Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Layers

Fellow Monroe-naut A. has begun reading The Risen, and has noticed the different writing styles and notes her varied emotional and mental responses to them.

Although this aspect of the book has been mentioned in the past, but not for some time, it might be useful for readers, new and old, to keep it in mind when reading the different chapters. There were many hundreds of primary contributors to The Risen, along with as-yet uncounted thousands of secondary and background assistants and supporters. Tim, I feel, did an excellent job of editing.

Lavender Mists of Time

Thanks to G. who “stumbled” on this blog and emailed about his heavenly delight in finding Jackson Pollock sharing elbow room with Harold & Maude.








“How do you know when you're finished making love? [responding to the question asked of Pollock: How do you know when you're finished?]”


"A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead, really. They're just backing away from life. Reach out. Take a chance. Get hurt even. But play as well as you can. Go team, go! Give me an L. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. L-I-V-E. LIVE! "
(from Harold & Maude)

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Ether Sunday

Today is a day about the world's greatest medium who demonstrated that death wasn't real. Instead of seeing his life and demonstration for what it simply was and is, we now have men who dress up in drag in full view of thousands of people who kneel before them thinking about football and the lamb roast. And not to mention little plastic statues that glow in the dark and go on the car dashboard. (1) And let us bow our head and give thanks for eternal hits of peace, like "Onward Christian Soldiers," and "There is a Fountain Filled with Blood" and "Drop kick me, Jesus, Through the Goalposts of Life."(2) To be fair, there are countless hymns of true Risen spirituality, such as the Anglican "Awake, O Sleeper, Rise From Death," and "Sleeper, Wake a Voice Astounds Us." I have an actual hymnal of works gathered and published by early-mid 20th C. spiritualists, so it's good to know that somewhere there will always be a mixture of the ridiculous with the sublime.

One of my cousins used to tell the stupidest jokes when we were little and this one was funny only because she was so funny. 40-odd years later I can see that she wasn't exactly funny in a ha-ha way.

Her brother Bobby was my bestest friend, who died suddenly of meningitis at age 10 -- so I share it with as much dignity as I can. His illness was horribly intense and painful and lasted a week before he transitioned. (His mother, my aunt, recently transitioned in her 80's to join him and his father.) I remember my mother taking me between her knees and struggling to tell me, at the age of 5, about my first experience with death. She was careful and compassionate and very brave. I cried long and hard but probably for reasons different than she thought. I knew that he had gone off to the land of beautiful forests and meadows and was now playing with people who had been visiting me since I could remember. I was heart-broken not because Bobby was "dead" but because I couldn't go with him and play anymore. Strangely, and sadly to me, I've never had contact from him in spirit. Their ways are strange and mysterious.

So is his sister Diane's joke:

"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Ether."
"Ether who?"
"Ether bunny."
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Cargo."
"Cargo who?"
"Cargo beep beep and run over the ether bunny."


______________________________________
(1) "I don't care if it rains or freezes,
s'long as I got my plastic Jeezus,
sitten on the dashboard of my car...."

(2) "Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life"
Song from Bobby Bare Greatest Hits, Bareworks Inc.
Words and music by Paul Craft.CD, BWCD-040292

Chorus:
Drop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of life
End over end neither left nor to right
Straight through the heart of them righteous uprights
Drop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of life.

Make me, oh make me, Lord more than I am
Make me a piece in your master game plan
Free from the earthly tempestion below
I’ve got the will, Lord if you’ve got the toe.

(chorus)

Take all the brothers who’ve gone on before
And all of the sisters who’ve knocked on your door
All the departed dear loved ones of mine
Stick’em up front in the offensive line.

(chorus)

Yeah, Drop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of life
End over end neither left nor to right
Straight through the heart of them righteous uprights
Drop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of life.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Coming in The Cold Time.

~ The Snowdrop ~
Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid,
Ever as of old time,
Solitary firstling,
Coming in the cold time,
Prophet of the gay time,
Prophet of the May time,
Prophet of the roses,
Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid!
— Alfred Lord Tennyson



Recently we spoke about not getting carried away by feelings in order to stay present in a given situation. This does not mean that we should never pick up our feet and let the river carry us -- sometimes it's our only option -- other times, it's the choice we make based on how safe we're feeling at the time. And still at other times, we've become addicted to the feeling of getting carried away and might behave in ways to activate it. Of course, it depends if we want to get taken to some place, or away from it.

Allowing our feelings to carry us to a certain state of mind is one way of establishing communicative links that brings us closer to those who are Risen, or to those who still embodied and are on (and therefore in) our mind but out of sight. But these feelings may actually achieve the opposite -- keeping us unlinked and inaccessible and frozen in one place. This is not the same as choosing to stay within one's own presence. One actually begins from the feeling of one's own authentic presence, and from there, purposively activates increasingly intensified feelings, as brought about by thoughts, memories, artifacts, music, smells, and so on.

"Authentic presence" needs further clarification, best done by looking at the etymology of each word. The etymology of a word is very useful, for it can clearly reveal the origin and historical development of a linguistic form as shown by determining its basic elements, earliest known use, and changes in form and meaning, even tracing its transmission from one language to another.

Authentic = "authoritative," from O.Fr. autentique (13c.), from M.L. authenticus, from Gk. authentikos "original, genuine, principal," from authentes "one acting on one's own authority," from autos "self" + hentes "doer, being." Hence, one authors one's sense of self through one's actions. These actions may be outer (visible and tangible) and/or inner (invisible and intangible). Most actions are many layered, interactive and "and/or".

"Presence" = "fact of being present," from O.Fr. presence (12c.), from L. præsentia "a being present," from præsentem (see present (n.)). Meaning "carriage, demeanor, aspect" (especially if impressive) is from 1579; that of "divine, spiritual or incorporeal being felt as present" is from 1667. Presence of mind (1665) is a loan-transl. of Fr. présence d'esprit, L. præsentia animi.

So authentic presence arises as the intensification of feeling increases our sphere of awareness of personal beingness, as well as our sensitivity to our local and non-local environments. New senses are grown out from the usual ones, like finer branches on a tree, which, when attended to with conscious awareness and love, will continue to grow, and flourish with gifts of leaves and fruits.

This process can be quite simple -- as it ought to be. For example, allowing one's self to be immersed into and overtaken by the smell of a loved one's old and well-worn shirt can transport us immediately to very real and substantial worlds of memory.

Some of the feelings activated will be intense enough as to be uncomfortable or even painful -- but neither of these qualities needs to be experienced (endured) as suffering. Suffering occurs with non-acceptance; acceptance negates suffering, and allows pain and discomfort to exist in order to allow us access to fuller experiences of being. Suffering not only pulls us away from our edges where pain and discomfort are found, but reduces our sphere of life, contracting it tighter and tighter, cutting us off from the potentially greater sphere of experience and existence. Life becomes less-than, a pinched off existence, and even the leaves and fruits of formerly gained extended senses will wilt and vanish from lack of light. The light in this case is the combined acknowledgement of perceiving, accepting and feeling all pain and discomfort without judgment. This combination results in new perceptions, enlarged lenses that allow for yet more light, and therefore, more life. More life is what our Creator Source seeks, and which gives It, and therefore gives each of us, unlimited pleasure.

Some of us are involved with pain on levels that none of us would ever aspire to, and yet it is the very intensity of that kind of pain that channels the innermost awareness to worlds that would never otherwise be accessed. Those who have refused pain killers because of their sense-deadening effects may understand this, and are courageous explorers into their own infinite aspects of dimensional awareness. "The pain takes me . . . " they might say. It takes them to places where there is no language, no reporting back. This journey transforms pain into something different. That being said, we are very blessed in having modern medical approaches that can treat pain appropriately and effectively. Nobody should ever have to endure pain. Some of us can tolerate or develop a certain kind of relationship with certain kinds of pain; it is unique and individual. Therefore while a bee sting may be small to one person, it could be very different for another with allergies to the venom.

Allowing oneself to sit with discomfort is not subjecting oneself to pain, nor is it self abuse, but is letting the experience of growing pains move ahead. The snowdrop flower, which appears earliest of all spring flowers in my area, grows right on up through the snow until it finds the sun. One wonders if this is an entity that suffers in the process, or endures it, or even has found pleasurable ecstasy in surrendering to where its life desires to take it. This is putting out new branches which will flower and fruit. This is the lifting of the feet from the river bottom and letting life carry us from the Source, to the Source.

Regarding the Risen, their sense of authentic presence is greatly enlarged compared to the embodied on Earth, and discomfort and pain are usually the result when they attempt to come down to our levels of awareness or vibration. "Down" is meant here not in a physical, directional way, but as "less organized truth." The more we can perceive something for what it is, the more truth we see; the "more true it is." So a "higher" level of truth is truth more organized.

When Krishnamurti dissolved the theosophical Order of the Star of The Start of the East in 1929, he began by telling this little joke to his unsuspecting audience:

You may remember the story of how the devil and a friend of his were walking down the street, when they saw ahead of them a man stoop down and pick up something from the ground, look at it, and put it away in his pocket. The friend said to the devil, "What did that man pick up?" "He picked up a piece of Truth," said the devil. "That is a very bad business for you, then," said his friend. "Oh, not at all," the devil replied, "I am going to let him organize it."

There are levels of truth, and depending on how well it is organized, we may derive more or less pleasure from the truth. The saying that "the truth hurts" is a typically backward terrestrial mirror way of seeing things, as it suggests that truth has the potential for malice. Rather, malice has the potential for truth. Once we find a piece of truth, it is ours forever. Even if we should "fall backwards" we take this truth with us, and it affects the darkness far more than the darkness affects it. The smallest piece of truth is still a light in the fog.

The discomfort that the Risen experience has been reported by them to be "as if in a dense, polluted fog, unable to breathe" or "this must be what being in the old-fashioned deep-sea diving suit felt like!" They are literally squeezed into our dimension. Because their imprints of living still exist within the fabric of terrestrial history (as is everyone's) old mannerisms, habits and eccentricities will be reactivated -- rather like putting on an old Halloween costume that one had forgotten about and had been moldering away for years in Grandma's attic. Wearing these old earthly personas often confuse the returning spirit, and so a certain amount, or even a great deal of strangeness can come out of their communication attempts, and so unfortunately these attempts get tagged as coincidences, nonsense or even fraud. It's not uncommon for someone Risen to forget their own earthly name -- we often receive new names as Risen, which Tim has referred to as "designators" -- and are based on perception of light, colour, sound, and affect and effect - not just picked out of an astral baby names book. My name, August, was given to me by my Risen friends to reflect their perception of me as I am in this earthly existence. It will change many times, and become multi-layered, as one continues to transition from one level of vibration to the next.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Beautiful Bones

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."
— Ralph Waldo Emerson


Over the weekend I found myself deeply missing Oolong's physical presence — the kittens are so different, so young, so unsettled — so unlike old, wizened, creaky O.

The next day my friend Kate and I took a long walk into the woods and up to the hill where we had buried O's body last year — and found that someone had removed stones from the grave which enabled something — a dog or wild animal — to dig up her remains. Her beautiful fur was scattered around with a few bones, and I found the top part of her skull a few feet away. It seemed so impossibly small, most of it taken up by the huge eye sockets, revealing the deep nocturnal nature of the species. The top teeth were very tiny and perfectly formed, and I gently ran my thumb over them, feeling her closer to me than I had in many months.

I thought about bringing the skull back with me, but realized that its place was in the ground, in the earth, to continue to be reabsorbed back into that from which it had come. I found a much larger rock, which I could barely lift, and placed it on the grave after gathering up as much of the bits of dirt-encrusted fur and bones and shreds of the shroud that had been a linen shirt that I could find. Kate watched me struggle with putting the skull back and then with the rock in silence; both were heavy. I was very sad for the rest of the day, and could not remember the kittens' names, calling them "Oolong" instead.

Naturally one tends to look for the messages and meanings behind the synchronous ten thousand things of this dreamscape we call "life." We want to see the design in the great infinite weaving as clearly as possible — what's this a picture of? Nothing has come to mind, yet, because my mind needs to be quiet while my heart processes the grief that continues to be part of the experience of O's transition. Intuitively, I know that there are layers upon layers of meaning and messages in an experience such as this. Along with the actual manifestation, there arrives along with them feelings, both simple and complex. These feelings, which usually give rise to thoughts, combine with the thoughts to create emotions, also simple and complex. We can often get "carried away" by emotions, to mental and psychological places that seem to offer safety if we are feeling threatened by the manifestation -- although it's really the thoughts about the manifestation that we find threatening, not the manifestation itself. Thus, I stay present with the feelings, labeling them neither "good" nor "bad" in order to not be carried away. Some may see this as courageous and others, as avoidance — but really, it's nothing of the sort. Rather, it's merely "acceptance of what is, without labeling what is."

The truth revealed by acceptance is something of beauty, and meant to be looked at. The primal message, then, is "accept this beautiful thing as best as one can."