Daily Theosophy

The tension grew, all the extremes became still extremer, but he could not shout for his mother or anyone. He felt the attraction still rise reach the absolute limit above what could be endured by a human being, and …

(138)

(the hell)

As by a miracle a musical tone from unknown origin and highest purity which he seemed to hear, he came to his senses, and with all the will power he had within him, superhuman willpower, and more than he ever knew he had within him, he drew himself back, slowly, slowly, his sweat steaming like rivers along his whole body, afraid to slip, and moving against the push of the monstress and then he slipped off the slippery stone edge, and tumbled down, landed on his head, his nose started bleeding, and his head was dazing and he thought his skull had burst. Then he managed to move away from the well. The music had become quiet though and started to change, but not for the better.

Shano had never been a sensual or greedy person, at least outwardly. Being a good person, these things had all been deep under the surface with him. Anyway, the female closed the lid, and seemed disappointed. Now he had ‘only’ his hunger and thirst and his urge to shit and piss. What happened to him he himself didn’t know. He was getting crazy because of the impulses of his body. His mind became crazy by cause of his left-over desires and repulsions. His philosophy had left him. Just at that moment another grinning monster came to him with a big plate, holding it just above Shano’s head. It smelled like his favorite rice disk, with fried vegetables, it was a super Nasi Rames with peanut sauce and sambal – mashed and fried red pepper with brown-fried onion pieces, and Guacamole – a salad made of fresh avocados with coarse black pepper, salt, a bit of extra-virgin Italian olive oil and fresh lime, and also he smelt the molten cheese of Quesadillas with Frijoles refritos. The monster turned the plate slowly around, and it seems to know all Shano’s favorite dishes, like Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte, popped and then cooked soy beans with miso-tahin sauce and Sushi filled with tamari-drenched iziki, Four-Cheeses Pizza with jalapeños, and ghee rava paneer dosai with coconut chutney and sambar, and African millet with small pieces of carrot, celery, onion and ginger covered with a soft sauce of ground white sesame seeds, and then Tibetan yak cheese momo’s with red pepper sauce, and mango ice-cream with blackberry sauce, and more. All your favorite dishes – I mean your favorite dishes, those of you, the reader, were also on it.

Stop reading here for a while, and imagine your favorite dishes. After visualizing these, continue to read.

His hunger had risen to astronomical proportion. His hunger could be measured in light years only. He was so happy that his second passion was to come to an end. Then the plate was lowered before him, and then he saw what was on it: some vulture heads, and one peace of human elbow with marrow. The monsters around almost fainted with laughter. The vulture heads were still connected with large parts of the vultures bodies, and he would have to cut them off, tear them open with his fingers, and then suck them out. But he was so hungry that none of these things really bothered him anymore. He rather wanted to die now, getting rid of the hunger and thirst and pressure. In the middle was a big glass with in Shano’s always hopeful fancy was red grape juice, but the serving monster himself emptied in one gulp. The monster said smilingly that if Shano wouldn’t like the meal, he could also get something else. But, for him as a vegetarian, there was nothing on the menu. And he refused. His physical condition was so terrible, so awful, so horrifying.

Shano noticed that the other monsters in the subterranean hall of terror – an illusionary hall, only created for Shano’s eyes out of infinite thought, and because the monsters were not obstructed in their movement by stone and could pass right through any physical obstacle without resistance – were ordered in some kind of hierarchy. The worst of them, the first he had met, was the Prime Monster, then there was a Vice Monster, who was the embodiment of vice, and a whole lot of other monsters – all very ferocious in outlook, with three bloodshot red burning eyes. But for the rest they looked all different, according to their different functions. The hierarchy was reflected in the number of empty heads they were wearing around their neck and in their hair. Vulture heads counted for one point, tiger for two, lion for three and human for five. The Prime Monster wore almost exclusively human heads. Shano looked at all the monsters one by one. He saw one that was eating big pieces of meat slowly, sitting on a cushioned bench like a coach potato, a big belly and very lazy, sleepy eyes, even though they were blood red, and three of them. His color was light gray with vague brown clouds and faint reddish stripes. He was clearly the monster of laziness. He had a tremendously long garment of human heads around his neck, but most of them where still alive, sleeping – and these counted only half in his hierarchical position – or they had their eyes half open, and looking totally disinterested. If someone came there under the earth and made contact with this monster, he would be overcome by laziness, without any positive force to get up again and move on. Nothing could save such a person. No song, no melody, they only had a liking for food, which made them even lazier. Only love could get them out of the situation, when it took enough effort and produced enough excitement. But normally such a one had to stay there for a very long period, until death freed him or her of his body. Another monster, with a sad face and totally dark gray as a thundercloud, did nothing at all. It didn’t even eat. The human heads he wore were all looking gloomy when alive, and some of the dead ones had been rent to pieces by self-inflicted violence. Once in the grip of this monster one would lose all hope. One wouldn’t even remember what hope was. Even Shano, though not directly connected with this monster, felt his last hope sink down into the floor by merely looking at that monster; so he quickly turned his head. Such a person under this influence would feel no passion, no hunger, most of the time. He or she would be completely unified with depression, and have no will or energy or even knowledge to seek freedom. Finally that person would die, and find gloom after death also – even death could not liberate someone like that from the character of that monster. He or she could only be saved if from outside someone send him a bright thought of genuine love – and even that he might reject or not recognize. But if he did recognize that feeling, he could disentangle himself from the power of the monster and would become a hero.

There was another, quite high-ranked monster which was the monster of anger. It wore most of the dead heads in his hair. Some heads were still shouting fiercely. The monster itself was purple and red, and flames flared up from all sides of his body. Those who approached him would be burnt alive. Many of them had been leaders in some position in society – because they were still wearing their insignia, but they could have been all kinds of simple people also.

We should remember that those people caught by these monsters were not only lazy or depressive or angry. But because they had lost all impulses of their good mind, they became only their bad habits and characters. It was their last opportunity – in this life at least – to overcome such traits. The human heads were all those of people who had entered the sacred, scary land against all warnings, but had ventured there out of sheer curiosity, blind bluff, or genuine but still half-hearted curiosity concerning spiritual matters; because they did not really know what spirituality actually was. No intelligence of their mind could give useful hints to save themselves in that situation. Only people in whose consciousness compassion and unselfishness had sprouted could conquer this hell by their own effort.

There were many more monsters, too many to describe, but I will mention the most humble one. He or she (or both – it could not be distinguished) sat shyly in a corner, and was smaller and thinner than the others. It had only one small skull on a string around its neck, next to a mobile phone. It looked young and beautiful, though its skin showed wrinkles at some places, which it carefully tried to hide; actually it did not look much like a monster. It was adorned with all kinds of youthful gadgets: lipstick, nail varnish, eyelash color, permanent wave, and smelled of cheap perfume, and it had also male things: it had some coarse tattoo’s on its arms, and a leather belt and black gloves with pointed silver knobs, and was sexy also. Those who came under its power were immediately overcome by attachment to youthfulness. They could not except that they were getting older. But they were suffering like hell, because all the time they were getting older. Not once in a lifetime, but everyday again, sometimes several times a day, an assistent of the Chief Monster would hold a mirror in front of their eyes, so, whatever they did, they could not escape the fact. Before they had come there they had been either young, or ladies and men who imagined themselves as still young. When they were still above the ground, they could have saved themselves this hellish ordeal by only realizing that being old (and perhaps ugly from a sexy point of view) has great advantages. Young people, if they have some genuine soul, want to know, learn, experience. Why? Because they want to have knowledge, want to have things learned and want to have things experienced. Because they know that this is the way to get wiser. But aged people don’t have to do that anymore – they have accumulated enough for this life. Therefore most of them become calmer, have long forgotten about the outer beauty of their body (they may have been married for decades, so they don’t need so much sexiness anymore, and even their psychology normally doesn’t crave for it.) Now they are in the period when they can keep calm, and think things over, combining their experiences internally and accumulate the experiences of a lifetime into wisdom; and understanding questions inside. Gaining pieces of wisdom is the most beautiful experience one can have. Old people who understand that are much happier than the latest chosen Miss Universe. Because their wisdom is for ever, it survives death – and even if they haven’t heard about reincarnation, they most certainly have laid a basis for the future. If they would understand that, young people could even be envious with the old. In fact that is why in many cultures young people respect old people: these have already accomplished and overcome so many problems which the young still have to accomplish, have to struggle with and lose or win. Regrettably, even many old people don’t understand that, and feel like an old wreck, physically or psychologically. The only skull that this youth-monster was wearing was that of a 92 year old lady, and it was still wearing lipstick and had its hair permanent-waved and painted black. Poor old lady – she would never become old. And she should never had imagined that she was good enough to venture into the sacred and scary land. 

Shano saw all this despite his hunger and other inconveniences, because his curiosity had not yet been completely extinguished. It was all in a flash. Then his mind and psychology changed as a result of the process and Shano became as he had never been before.