Deranged Yo-Yo's

Who are those deranged, and up and down the elevator shaft of None, yo yo’s that take on the work of liberating the primordial being that awaits at the center of the labyrinth? They are yo yo’s for they do rise and fall as necessary to navigate through the four dimensional labyrinth, and they are deranged, because they are the undoing of the organically arranged. Some are tough and some are sweet, but none could know what they were getting into until they were well into it. There is no way to convey to a non yo yo what the experience of coming unraveled is really like, you must become a yo yo to know what a yo yo knows. I can say to you, our work is to liberate the primordial being at the center of the labyrinth, but what on earth can that mean to you, because chances are good that the idea that you are a voyager lost in a labyrinth is likely to sound absurd or quaint, primordial makes you think of amoebas or dinosaurs, and liberation is an absolute junk word- it means absolute zero to you who have never actually tasted it. Even a seasoned yo yo will find it difficult to remember the secret that lays entrenched within the words and ideas espoused within and around esoteric schools, in science fiction books, on the sides of buses, and in Kung Fu movies.
Who, who, who is the Lord of the Labyrinth, when I am one and there can be no other?
What, what, what is a labyrinth, if not the shape of my own fears and fantasies?
Not just philosophically speaking, but actually, in the sensory language of liquid light that has been preserved in the darkness, feeding on rot, I am the voidness of the void. When you are ready to get off the drug of organic sleep you will find yourself in the shape of this or that guide, and if you are of a goodly kind, they may take you to the entrance of the kingdom. And you, not knowing what lies beyond may leap gleefully into the abyss.
But ha, ha, it is not such a quick and painless choice to make, for to see the hidden you will have to give up your mortal eyes and ears, and everything that you thought was true. Blind and deaf, you will have to trust your guide to lead you into the new world. You must give the guide permission to derange you so that you can see, hear and know the secret ways. It is not a momentary excursion into wonderland, from which you will re-emerge refreshed and able to enjoy your remaining biological life in the home you have always known. You are to be modified, altered, and when you have been transformed, home and biological life are no longer what they were.
Nothing can ever be the same. Just as the same man cannot set foot in the same river twice, you can never go back. You can freeze, unfinished, or move forward into the unknown. Many a Yo Yo has been lowered into that forbidding hole, and yet the experience of life on the other side of the mirror can not be told. The trick is this: if you think that this Work of liberating the minotaur is best left to another, more qualified mad man, consider that they are only a projection, an illusion dreamt by you.
You are the one trapped at the center.
You are the medium in which you are trapped.
You are your helpers and your adversaries.
The only course is to come to know yourself, and to do so you must come unraveled. Unravel to travel, dear would-be yo yo, into the center of self. Your intellect, as you know it, cannot help you. The programming you received in child hood was good for conditioning you to live within mechanical society, the society of sleep, but to see the world that you were conditioned to close your eyes to, you will have to be deprogrammed. You will need to have your brain washed. The right guide can take you to the river and wash that filthy brain right out of you, teach you to use a new set of tools for navigating spaces where brains are no help, and then, if they be a goodly guide, they will proudly boot you into the elevator shaft of None.

After The Fall

"I turn'd my eye, and as I turn'd survey'd
A mournful vision! the Sisyphian shade;
With many a weary step, and many a groan,
Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone;
The huge round stone, resulting with a bound,
Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.
Again the restless orb his toil renews,
Dust mounts in clouds, and sweat descends in dews."

The Odyssey

To rise, to climb up from the depths, pushing the huge heavy stone, is a matter of great strain, long sustained effort, steady sacrifice and controlled inner struggle. It takes time, time made longer by the attention, time made wider by the presence, time vibrating with life and possibility with the unshackled fierceness of the Unborn.

To fall, it takes one moment of distraction, one instance where the presence leaves and the machine takes over, one single fraction of a second when life is cut off and the possibilities die away.
After such a fall, it might seem impossible to rise again. We may rest in a puddle of despair, of repeated "shoulds" and "should nots", of imaginary "could have beens" and wishfuls "if I had not".
A rush of hopelessness will arise, a dark voice that says "this time we almost had it! It will never be so good… it will never be so pure… it will never again… be… and so it is time to stop, to give up, to say this has been tried and tried and tried again… but it cannot happen. It will not happen and you are a fool to rise again, to attempt the impossible one more time. You have failed."
And your own soft voice will respond: "I could have managed better. I could have stopped it in time. I could have looked ahead, seen it coming, stopped the flash before it broke my climb…If I had only made one more small effort!"
But it is too late. The fall has happened. The rock is before you, it is time to rise again, to push up yet again, to pull all the will that you have remaining into your solar center and begin the endless climb… one more time.

To rise, to peak, to fall, to lie in despair… an eternal wheel. How fast can it run? If it cannot be escaped, can it be made to run so fast that the four points will run into each other to form a continuous circle of light? The perception of time will forever be uneven, but the wheel may run so fast that it will make no difference.

Once, after the fall, it took 10 years to get back to the rock, to place my scarred hands on the hard surface and begin to push.
Once, after the fall, it took 1 year to get back to the rock, to place my bloodied nuckles against the broken surface and begin to push.
Once, after the fall, it took 1 month to get back to the rock, to place my sweaty forehead against the blood stained surface and begin to push.
Once, after the fall, it took 1 day to get back to the rock, to place my pulsing heart against the burning hot surface and begin to push.

The climb is still hard. The fall is still spirit breaking. But the movement is no longer up. It is sideways. We have entered the Big Time and we push forth in a direction that cannot be seen with human eyes or pointed to with corporeal hands. Somewhere out there, our destiny twirls madly like a winged burning serpent that eats its own tail in an eternal feast.