In 2014, Yalluk was an insider of this system. This year, it came to light that she was a past life identity of my own, and apparently became separated from me during our birth, 17 years ago. In 2016, she became a part of me once again, leaving behind many writings and remains of the culture that she/I had carried for perhaps many years before our split had happened. What follows is something that Yalluk wrote in 2014, when she and I were still separate. Perhaps it is a reflection of her/my feelings about our birth. Perhaps it is a piece of the culture that she/I grew up with in that life. To me, as I am now, after her and I became one again, it is both. What do you all think?
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We are born knowing that those things made not in accordance with The Mother's desires are not to be trusted, not to be used, not to be acquired, not to be known by us. We ourselves do not want them, these unnatural things of industry. Why should we justify this demand to have no synthetics around us or our children? Oh, but I can. Because by even their standards, their standards based on information from flawed, synthetic equipment, their synthetics are unhealthy. How is suppression and removal of anything of the body natural? It is not. Why do such things exist if all we will do is remove and suppress them completely?
Perhaps the better question to ask is, why do we believe that these things are bad? I ask these things because tonight, The Mother's wishes will be remembered…Because it is The Mother's wish for all her children to remember that this is not the way. This fear of something that nobody forces to happen? This is not the way. We will not tolerate these things. We will not tolerate in the least, these unnatural, synthetic, things of industry.
They are a violation of self. The idea that the body need be changed to fit in with a group is laughable at best, and unthinkable at worst. The standards of those who have forgotten sit ill with us. Do you truly believe that we are going to allow ourselves to forget simply to please your ways? The thought of one cutting in to change another's looks is horrifying, yet this abominable practice goes on every moment of light, every moment of darkness, every moon, every season, with every word you read, this practice continues on, and it is a shame. It greaves me deeply to think that there are some of The Mother's children so unhappy with themselves that they would allow another to harm them in such a way. It Greeves me much more so to know that people will not wake up.
Products are wrong. It is that simple. If one truly remembers, they will hate this world, for it is of these unnatural things. If it is that one remembers, then let them be as they see fit to be. Let them call, let them return, let them live the natural way. Let them be. This life is not the life for us. These synthetics are not the way.
We know this. Do you? Do you remember this pain? This rage? We who remember know not the acceptance of synthetics, and this way it will remain. Do you wish us to forget? Why? Have we truly done wrong to your people?
What wrong? The protection of our children from your world? The protection of ourselves from your ways? Is that truly so wrong? What right do you have to demand that our children wear, say, deodorant, when they and we know that the use of such a vile, unnatural thing is not only a violation of The Mother's will for her children, but a violation of self, or at least one's inner child? Ah, yes, the inner child who screams "No!" to your every way.
Do you hear them? Can you hear their protests, their tiny hands beating upon the prison that you have created? Yes, this child is truly in torment, trapped in a life of forgotten and numbed, and even unfelt, pain. With every product used, with every synthetic applied, the child within screams with rage, pain, and shame, and still we look upon this outpouring of remembrance with hate and loathing. "Why are they so unclean?" we say. "Do they not care for themselves?"
The truth is simple. We care as much as you do, about different things. Caring is not our problem, if we have one in the first place, that is. You see, I believe that none of us truly have a problem, for we do not. But in your eyes, we are unclean, filthy animals. Why is this so?
Do you not see how a newborn screams when blood is taken? When unnatural things touch him, or her? Do you not see the pain these things cause? We are born knowing. Because of your ways, your forced standards and unnatural products, we forget as we get older. Do not tell me that this is not so, for if you have seen a newborn after birth scream and try their hardest to pull away from a synthetic, you understand, even if you don't remember yourself.
For anyone at all to curse this is for them to curse themselves, the forgotten selves, that is. The life of the forgotten self is one of pain, of constant and unending pain. Picture yourself trapped in a world where everything you know is wrong, is right to the others around you. This is the life of the forgotten self. Picture yourself with these ways of the others forced upon you, these ways so wrong and tainted. Picture yourself with no way to escape and live by your own ways of rights and wrongs. This is the life of the forgotten self. Picture yourself unheard and unfelt, a suppressed and banished one by even you. This is the life of the forgotten self, with you as the blind one.
We ourselves are blinded by our teachers, our parents and our elders. And yet the forgotten self screams out, in the smells, the sights, and all the things that we have deemed “unclean and not normal.”
The life of the remembered self can be two. The first resembles the one of the forgotten self. The second opposes.
The first resembles the life of the forgotten self. Picture yourself fighting for everything you are, knowing your ways and your rights and wrongs, and fighting the others around you for what you know. This is the life of the remembered self in battle. Picture yourself told "No!" again and again and again, "No!" to everything you know is right, "No!" to all that you are. This is the life of the remembered self in battle. Picture dyeing inside, your memories fading away until you only know the rights and wrongs of the others. Picture wanting to give in, forced away by your parents and teachers and elders. Picture forgetting everything you know, almost completely.
This is the life of the remembered self in battle.
The life of remembered self at peace is one of nature, of knowing, and of being. Picture yourself knowing for a fact what is right and what is wrong, and being able to live it without a fight to do so. This is the life of the remembered self at peace. Picture yourself free to do what you need to in order to live from your knowings. Picture doing what you need to without fear or a battle. Picture being free. This is the life of the remembered self at peace.
The remembered self at peace does not need to struggle for what they know. It is freedom, it is knowing and being able to act on that knowledge. The knowledge is one of nature. It is that all synthetics are to be shunned from one's life. Newborn children have this knowledge, but are unable to act on it because of the place they are birthed in. Often, it is a hospital, a place where nature is unheard of. Those who work in hospitals, though unconsciously, seek to destroy nature through the use of synthetics.
This is not to hold the doctors to blame. It holds the first who have forgotten to blame, for forcing the continuing generations to forget. You see, the doctors, and indeed most of us, have been blinded by the adults around us. The adults are blind themselves, simply because in a time before time was known, for reasons of unreason, a generation allowed themselves to forget, blinding their children. Those children blinded their children, and The Great Forgetting began and still continues today. Hospitals may have the best of intentions, but the outright banishment of nature, in the end, does far more harm than good.
Picture a child, fighting their way down the birth passage, and already this child is battling to stay natural. The mother is completely blind to this memory, having been herself blinded at birth by her own parents. She has requested an epidural, and though the doctors claim that the substance within will not hurt the child, the child is indeed hurting inside, for they are fighting to know. Yes, the life of the remembered self in battle is now, and perhaps has been since the moment of conception. Can you see it? Can you see the child fighting for their memory? Can you feel their pain? Your pain?
Is this child you?
But of course it is! The desperate struggle to be born, and to remember. There you come, out into the cold, into the shock, into the loud, bright first moments, and if you are lucky you will perhaps be held by your mother, be given an opportunity to battle on just a while longer. But for the unlucky, those who the doctors deem ill, there is more pain ahead. But in the battle of remembrance, your mother's touch doesn't matter, unless she remembers herself. And matter does not, the illness that the doctors say is. It is still a battle.
Whisked away, the child screams a protest, one against the world of unnatural that they are greeted with. They want to hide, to return, but cannot. The insistent and blind demands of the world, the people around them take it all. The child gives up. Their own way is lost in the ways of the others. The memory is forgotten, and the life of the forgotten self begins. This is the agony. This is our story.
Do you remember? As I do?