I have a dis-order. It's called "Benign Familial Tremor" or "Essential Tremor". I have had it since I was a young child. What it means is that every inch of my body exhibits a noticeable, rhythmic tremor throughout my life. It can be exaggerated by drugs, lessened by meditation, controlled by breathing and yoga, but for all intents and purposes it never truly goes away. Doctors have no idea where it comes from. But I have a hunch.
A good friend/colleague of mine (who must remain anonymous) told me a story when he and I were working together: He had grown up living with his mother at his grandmother's house. His mother was head nurse at a psychiatric hospital in the Northwest, and his grandparents had been in the US Air Force. Around the time he was 2 or 3 his mother's younger sister divorced from her husband and moved back in--along with her 2 year-old son--to the house with her mother, sister, and nephew (my friend). She agreed to share custody of her child with her ex-husband and her son would go on weekends to his father's house while my friend remained at home.
One weekend the young boy returned from his father's house shaken. In fact, he refused to go to his father's for their next visit and the family became concerned; so concerned that they sent my friend with him to his ex-uncle's house to see what was happening. After returning for the weekend the story began to come out that the child's father was involved in a Satanic Cult and were utilizing young children in their rituals. The boys were no longer permitted to spend time at the alleged abuser's house, and that's when things became even stranger.
One day my friend woke up to his mother in hysterics. A pentagram had been found on their front steps burnt into the ground with a circle of salt around it. A warning. He stated that he began having nightmares where "beings" were attacking him and he couldn't fight back. It was decided that the situation was becoming too dangerous, and the family decided to hatch a plan to help my friend's aunt and cousin escape for good. They drove out of the area, and he never heard from them again.
Over the course of my disengagement from the hip-hop world this story lingered as a relic in the back of consciousness, but it never surfaced as an anecdote with purpose. I lost contact with my friend, and we basically didn't speak for two years. Time passed, and its sands buried the Sphinx of a situation beneath the desert only to be rediscovered at the right time.
...
Last Sunday I went to bed and dreamed lucidly. I woke up in the morning with an idea etched into my consciousness, "I MUST call my estranged friend today." Without reason, I was certain that I needed to reconnect to this friend, but I pushed the idea into the back of my mind. At 12:30 PM; however, the Universe spoke before I could, and I received a text stating, "Joe, I know we haven't talked in a long time, but I'm ready to talk now. There are some very important things going on, and we need to meet up. No matter what distracts you, what excuse bares its head, you must meet with me on Thursday morning." I shuddered. My premonition seemed to hold much more credence than I had allowed, and I knew we would connect.
Thursday came, the day after my 29th birthday, and despite feeling atrocious from a surprise party thrown by my girlfriend the night before, I upheld my end of the bargain and my friend picked me up. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol from the previous night or the nostalgia of reconnecting, but I felt vulnerable and open. We got to my friend's house and he began to talk. He began speaking about "Multiple Personality Disorder" and psychiatric research on hypnosis, two subjects with which I had relative familiarity through my research. I began to wonder where it was all going. "Let's watch this short TV show, and then we'll talk about everything afterwards," my friend suggested. "Okay," I thought, and we began to watch a show on the Discovery Channel about hypnotizing an up-standing citizen into becoming an assassin and whether it was possible. Despite my relative certainty that it could be done--knowing about MK Ultra, etc--I watched, and was utterly convinced after several of the "tests" they put subjects through were fail-safe. At this point, I was intrigued.
"I'm sure you're wondering where I'm going with all this, now," he suggested. "Well, do you remember the story I told you about with my cousin?" I nodded. "I've been doing some research. It started back around January when I watched 'Eyes Wide Shut' 30 times. It began to dawn on me that there was a significant amount of Tarot infusion into the movie and I began to see patterns regarding conditioning and hypnosis throughout the film. I began to realize that there was more to it than I was seeing, including the ritualistic orgy, and I began researching multiple personality disorder. As my research unfolded, I began to have an eerie feeling that a lot of the signs of such a disorder were prevalent in me, and I began to unfurl folds linking Satanic Ritual Abuse with MPD. Then I thought about my cousin. I thought about the fact that I've never had a "real" job, and that I'm completely dependent on my mother and grandmother for everything. Grandma went on vacation, so I decided to go to her house, and look around."
"I found a locked drawer in her house with a bunch of notes," he continued, handing me a stack of papers in somebody else's hand-writing. "Look."
Written on the paper were columns corresponding to several Greek words that further correspond to brainwaves, as I understood from my research. "Alpha- handler; Beta- Sexual; Delta- Assassin; Gamma- Go Crazy, Omega- Self Destruct/Suicide" etc.
He continued, "As I said, my family has been in the medical field/military for generations going the whole way back to England, man. Here are pictures I found." He proceeded to show me myriad pictures riddled in perplexing imagery, often very orchestrated/ritualistic that seemed to suggest certain themes prevalent in brainwashing/conditioning programs. For instance, his mother was supposedly a "handler" or "Alpha" and most of her pictures had her handling either a child or dog on some sort of leash. They seemed very contrived. There were pictures of the family watching "The Wizard of Oz" together, something that they stated they did every year at Christmas, no matter what. There were disturbing pictures of children who one second seemed themselves, and in the next frame seemed to be somebody else, as if hypnotized. I was very disturbed, and began to question within myself why he had asked me to come over and share this information with me.
Why I left. Why I'm Back. Part 1
Many of you may have noticed (most of you probably did not) that I quietly disappeared after nearly 5 break-less years from the Internet and its unending media swirl. Perhaps it was ennui. Or perhaps disenchantment with society at-large. Nonetheless, something deep inside me needed a change, and I knew it couldn't happen by grasping at electronic straws. Today, I have very deliberately resurfaced to share with you--and chronicle for myself--some VERY necessary information.
Sometime in 2010, I changed my name from "Pluto" to "Joe Cyrus". As many are aware, I saw my art as a meditation guided by divine will (and when off-the-mark, unfortunately steered by a human consciousness) with the intent of "awakening" the masses, myself included. As Joan Didion stated, "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear." With that being said, I hit a point after releasing Actually Happening with DMLH when I thought my next release, The Space Between Thoughts would be the album that finally broke my career. However, fall-outs with the Portland Hip-hop community, difficulties in my personal life, and general disinterest set-in and I became depressed. With that depression came a general feeling of dismay culminating in complete disregard for the artistic process, and a year went by where I felt like I had absolutely nothing left to say.
During that time I became more serious in my "professional life". I signed up to be a a child/adolescent treatment specialist at a local psychiatric residential treatment center for children (which shall remain nameless) and I regained--at least for a time--a sense of purpose and adventure in life. Other areas of my life began to open up. My girlfriend, Vanessa, bought me a bicycle and I began riding every day. I gave up smoking. I began rock climbing. I reconnected with a friend, Garth, whom I had met through Kung Fu and began immersing myself in primitive wilderness skill-building/tracking in order to help re-establish my connection with nature and embody the shamanistic themes running through my songs. But the inspiration still remained astray.
My grandfather, James E. Rudy, passed away in mid-2012, an event which seemed to be a culmination of the process I had undertaken the previous year in becoming a Reiki Master, and suddenly many connections began forming. This is where things began to get interesting.
"Pap" and I had really connected in his later years on the planet. One of our final moments together before I moved to Portland from the East Coast entailed me giving him an amethyst replica of a "Crystal Skull" found in Peru, supposedly an ancient relic connecting "the Gods" to people on Earth. On that particular occasion Pap and I discussed Native American spirituality, and he shared that while he was stationed in Anchorage, AK with the US Air Force he was in charge of "search and rescue" operations in the area. I asked him what that meant. He replied, "We're in the middle of the Arctic, Joe. What do you think we could possibly be recovering up there?" I shuttered. He continued, "One day we were out on a mission. Now, you have to understand that we are days, even weeks, away from civilization on these missions, so you can't just get medical attention when you need it. I happened to contract a cold and was in a state where I couldn't travel. So the Inuits, who were our guides on these trips, set-up an emergency sweat lodge for me. I spent two days on a vision quest in the lodge. And when I finished, I knew my 'power' animal." "What was it?" I asked, and before I could even finish the question we both said simultaneously, "Eagle." I knew it. Pap would later tell me that he meditated on the skull everyday (despite being an ordained Methodist minister) and found a connection to Orion through the skull.
Two years later Pap was on his deathbed, I was struggling to put any music together whatsoever, so I began working on visual art. It started with rudimentary, pixel pen strokes of animals on paper. But one day I drew this:
and I wasn't quite sure why. I spent some time thinking about it, and finally concluded with Vanessa's help that I should send it to Pap, as it seemed very connected to the journey of the afterlife, along with the Mayan skull in the painting under Pacal Votan's foot. Pap received it that week. We spoke on the phone Thursday, and he said he had gotten it, and "Thank you". We didn't discuss the message I had written on the back that said, "Take this with you on your journey so we can be together forever." He died on Saturday, and was buried with the picture that week.
I decided to look up the Mayan Astrology for 8/11/12, the day he passed, and to my astonishment the sign was BLUE PLANETARY EAGLE. Holy shit, I thought. That's quite a coincidence, considering we shared the Eagle as our "spirit animal". Since he passed later in the day, I decided to look up 8/12/12, as well, knowing that the soul doesn't just jump out of the body the second it's dead. YELLOW SPECTRAL WARRIOR aka MY MAYAN BIRTHDAY was the VERY NEXT DAY! That's a 1 in 260 chance that he would pass to the next realm on the day I entered this one, according to the Maya. I was floored.
A few days passed and I received a message from Garth, my friend with whom I do the wilderness skills training, and who had introduced me to a new way of life. He said he had been invited to a sweat lodge, and--though he needed permission from the elders for me to be there--he wanted to invite Vanessa and I. I finally agreed to go, and what transpired is nothing short of a miracle in my eyes.
When we got to the lodge I was immediately asked by the water pourer (or Shaman of the ceremony) to help tend the fire, an honor generally reserved for people of the Tribe. I was extremely surprised for having this bestowed upon me, and worked very hard to stack the wood for the ceremony. I must leave out many of the details to honor the sacredness of the ceremony, but I will comment that the water-pourer greatly emphasized the relationship between Grandfather (sky) and Grandson (man) throughout the ceremony, which immediately struck a cord in me due to the fact that "Pap" was still journeying according to ancient traditions. After the ceremony, an outspoken Native American Man began telling tales of Alaska and his upbringing in "Indian Country." I sat across from him and we began to communicate about ourselves. I quickly learned that he was a Native American born in Alaska around the time Pap was stationed there. I asked him where he was from. He said, "Anchorage." My jaw-dropped. "My Grandfather was the water-pourer running the sweat lodges up there in those days," the man continued to tell me. Either this was a coincidence of astronomical proportions or I was missing some unseen thread that linked everything together. After all, I could not bring myself to logically advocate that I had just been initiated into a sweat lodge ceremony the month my Grandfather died by the Grandson of the man who had initiated him 40 years before.
I left with a sense of wonderment, mystery, and concern. How had all this come to pass? What was thread linking this all together? The questions lingered; however, for the next few months things seemed to hover in a purgatory of unknowing, until events of the past week reinvigorated my NEED to KNOW.
Sometime in 2010, I changed my name from "Pluto" to "Joe Cyrus". As many are aware, I saw my art as a meditation guided by divine will (and when off-the-mark, unfortunately steered by a human consciousness) with the intent of "awakening" the masses, myself included. As Joan Didion stated, "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear." With that being said, I hit a point after releasing Actually Happening with DMLH when I thought my next release, The Space Between Thoughts would be the album that finally broke my career. However, fall-outs with the Portland Hip-hop community, difficulties in my personal life, and general disinterest set-in and I became depressed. With that depression came a general feeling of dismay culminating in complete disregard for the artistic process, and a year went by where I felt like I had absolutely nothing left to say.
During that time I became more serious in my "professional life". I signed up to be a a child/adolescent treatment specialist at a local psychiatric residential treatment center for children (which shall remain nameless) and I regained--at least for a time--a sense of purpose and adventure in life. Other areas of my life began to open up. My girlfriend, Vanessa, bought me a bicycle and I began riding every day. I gave up smoking. I began rock climbing. I reconnected with a friend, Garth, whom I had met through Kung Fu and began immersing myself in primitive wilderness skill-building/tracking in order to help re-establish my connection with nature and embody the shamanistic themes running through my songs. But the inspiration still remained astray.
My grandfather, James E. Rudy, passed away in mid-2012, an event which seemed to be a culmination of the process I had undertaken the previous year in becoming a Reiki Master, and suddenly many connections began forming. This is where things began to get interesting.
"Pap" and I had really connected in his later years on the planet. One of our final moments together before I moved to Portland from the East Coast entailed me giving him an amethyst replica of a "Crystal Skull" found in Peru, supposedly an ancient relic connecting "the Gods" to people on Earth. On that particular occasion Pap and I discussed Native American spirituality, and he shared that while he was stationed in Anchorage, AK with the US Air Force he was in charge of "search and rescue" operations in the area. I asked him what that meant. He replied, "We're in the middle of the Arctic, Joe. What do you think we could possibly be recovering up there?" I shuttered. He continued, "One day we were out on a mission. Now, you have to understand that we are days, even weeks, away from civilization on these missions, so you can't just get medical attention when you need it. I happened to contract a cold and was in a state where I couldn't travel. So the Inuits, who were our guides on these trips, set-up an emergency sweat lodge for me. I spent two days on a vision quest in the lodge. And when I finished, I knew my 'power' animal." "What was it?" I asked, and before I could even finish the question we both said simultaneously, "Eagle." I knew it. Pap would later tell me that he meditated on the skull everyday (despite being an ordained Methodist minister) and found a connection to Orion through the skull.
Two years later Pap was on his deathbed, I was struggling to put any music together whatsoever, so I began working on visual art. It started with rudimentary, pixel pen strokes of animals on paper. But one day I drew this:
and I wasn't quite sure why. I spent some time thinking about it, and finally concluded with Vanessa's help that I should send it to Pap, as it seemed very connected to the journey of the afterlife, along with the Mayan skull in the painting under Pacal Votan's foot. Pap received it that week. We spoke on the phone Thursday, and he said he had gotten it, and "Thank you". We didn't discuss the message I had written on the back that said, "Take this with you on your journey so we can be together forever." He died on Saturday, and was buried with the picture that week.
I decided to look up the Mayan Astrology for 8/11/12, the day he passed, and to my astonishment the sign was BLUE PLANETARY EAGLE. Holy shit, I thought. That's quite a coincidence, considering we shared the Eagle as our "spirit animal". Since he passed later in the day, I decided to look up 8/12/12, as well, knowing that the soul doesn't just jump out of the body the second it's dead. YELLOW SPECTRAL WARRIOR aka MY MAYAN BIRTHDAY was the VERY NEXT DAY! That's a 1 in 260 chance that he would pass to the next realm on the day I entered this one, according to the Maya. I was floored.
A few days passed and I received a message from Garth, my friend with whom I do the wilderness skills training, and who had introduced me to a new way of life. He said he had been invited to a sweat lodge, and--though he needed permission from the elders for me to be there--he wanted to invite Vanessa and I. I finally agreed to go, and what transpired is nothing short of a miracle in my eyes.
When we got to the lodge I was immediately asked by the water pourer (or Shaman of the ceremony) to help tend the fire, an honor generally reserved for people of the Tribe. I was extremely surprised for having this bestowed upon me, and worked very hard to stack the wood for the ceremony. I must leave out many of the details to honor the sacredness of the ceremony, but I will comment that the water-pourer greatly emphasized the relationship between Grandfather (sky) and Grandson (man) throughout the ceremony, which immediately struck a cord in me due to the fact that "Pap" was still journeying according to ancient traditions. After the ceremony, an outspoken Native American Man began telling tales of Alaska and his upbringing in "Indian Country." I sat across from him and we began to communicate about ourselves. I quickly learned that he was a Native American born in Alaska around the time Pap was stationed there. I asked him where he was from. He said, "Anchorage." My jaw-dropped. "My Grandfather was the water-pourer running the sweat lodges up there in those days," the man continued to tell me. Either this was a coincidence of astronomical proportions or I was missing some unseen thread that linked everything together. After all, I could not bring myself to logically advocate that I had just been initiated into a sweat lodge ceremony the month my Grandfather died by the Grandson of the man who had initiated him 40 years before.
I left with a sense of wonderment, mystery, and concern. How had all this come to pass? What was thread linking this all together? The questions lingered; however, for the next few months things seemed to hover in a purgatory of unknowing, until events of the past week reinvigorated my NEED to KNOW.
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