Friday, September 30, 2011

And much, much more . . .


Alex Tsakiris recently sent us a nice greeting and question:
Just listened to your interview on C2C... great stuff... many questions...I'm particularly interested in better understanding/resolving the differences in spiritual experiences across cultures/religions/practices. Do you address any of these topics in The Risen?
A seemingly small but intense question! I (August) seek to address it simply and put into words as best as I understand from a Risen perspective:
So far, the Risen material has circumvented any focus or intent on differentiating or splitting up the terrestrial experience of spirituality, and instead attends to the underlying commonalities that pre-exist and underlie all manifested people on earth. It does briefly acknowledge the existence, validity and value of older/ancient wisdom systems, especially indigenous "shamanic" type systems, where simplicity and directness is exemplified and makes them more alike than different. So... this seems to suggest there really is no actual need for resolving or resolution; rather the focus is on unlearning race-consciousness ideas, beliefs, and thought-patterns that were manufactured and instilled by ego-mind. A belief in such resolution is a "trick suggestion" of the ego-mind to divert our attention away from it so that it can continue with its agenda of separation to support its delusions of immortality. 

I myself am always very fascinated with how Creator Source is perceived by various cultures and then reflected back, and greatly enjoy hearing and reading about them, and even watching when the opportunity arises. There appears to be a great sort of "controlled upheaval" rapidly occurring across the mediumistic communities, where Spirit -- or the Risen, as I say -- is actively engaging in activities that unite the different communities and the way they manifest physical phenomena - most recently via Warren Caylor's ectoplasmic and Tom of Cabirol's photoplasmic energies in a collaborative effort in France -  see http://montcabirol.com/ Kai Mugge's group in Germany is also demonstrating rapidly changing, new phenomena that is exceeding even that of the Scole Group. (See the report there of Warren Caylor's also recent visit in Denmark.) I have mentioned before, but without any response (yet) on my comment from the mediumistic communities, that Spirit appears to have a mysterious Great Agenda of uniting the world through such collaborative efforts.  As you can probably surmise, there's a great deal of psychospirituality woven throughout the Risen material. Wendy and Victor Zammit asked us yesterday to provide a little blurb for their link to our site, which which reveals more of the underlying intent to the work: 

"This book was produced under the auspices of The Risen Collective. This collective includes mental health specialists, educators, scientists, healers, philosophers, and artists from multicultural and multi-temporal backgrounds of Earth and of other dimensional systems, and who have an intensely committed interest in the advancement of communicative relationships with those still embodied on Earth and in other dimensional systems. The Risen book was created to address the psychological challenges that arise from the fear of death and trauma from grief and bereavement, and how to initiate the deeper healing processes that may also initiate contact with Risen loved ones."
And much, much more . . .

Monday, September 26, 2011

Montcabirol Sittings 16th - 23rd September 2011

Several sittings took place in Montcabirol during this time, with attendance of international guests and mediums.
For your interest they offer the first update on audio files and testimonials of this amazing week.

Monday, September 19, 2011

From the Archives: Sentimental Blue

[originally posted March 18, 2006]

When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are,
Anything your heart desires will come to you.
If your heart is in your dreams, no request is too extreme ~
When you wish upon a star as dreamers do.
(Fate is kind, she brings to those who love
The sweet fulfillment of their secret longing.)
Like a bolt out of the blue, fate steps in and sees you through ~
When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.


I gave up wondering if I'm a dreaming butterfly a long time ago — a very long time ago. The last time I gave it a thought, I was probably five years old. Somehow, the collective conspiracy of modern civilization — to convince me that everyone around me was awake because they acted as if they were awake — wasn't convincing enough. It seemed quite backwards to me. When I was with these people who were acting as if they were awake, it was like being in a dream — that is, if a "dream" was what they meant when they described one — cold, strange, scary, crazy, not real. That's how I experienced living in their mass-manifested world of "everyday consciousness."

And when I was in the place they said was not awake — or "a dream" — I experienced warmth, familiarity, safety, sanity, reality. Opening my terrestrial body's eyes in the morning brought me feelings of "oh, no, not back here again." Gravity, the need to breathe, shadows, "external" sounds — and time — all rushed back in to take me prisoner again. Everything was disconnected, nothing was related. In fact, it was up to me now to make sense of every thing, rather than being able to relax and fall back in the comfort of simply experiencing every thing being connected. What joy!

I easily remember being in an infant's body in this strange, disconnected place, my terrestrial body's eyes unable to focus, its ears barely able to withstand the painful noises I was later taught to identify as separate "sounds," as I was taught to identify and label patches of light and colour as "that." "What's that?" I was asked over and over again. "Look at that!" I was commanded, over and over again. My body's brain was washed until it was soaked and soggy. I easily remember my frustration at being in the infant's body. Many years, later, in a seldom seen maudlin mood, my parents shared that I was the angriest baby they'd ever seen — that I was born angry, and had tried to slap the doctor first. I almost won.

My own maudlin mood today brought back these and other primal earthly memories. I well remember what I now know as the Risen about me all the time — crowds and crowds of them, laughing and singing, even dancing around my crib, somehow all fitting in the small room, arriving together in clouds and tinkling breezes.

And there were others — "Oh 'tis they, the fey" is how my Irish grandmother referred to them, when she came to visit me and rock in my tiny rocking chair, for years after she had transitioned, which was when I was two. She pretended to disdain them, saying they should be ashamed, and look at their hands, do they never wash them? — all the while her blue eyes twinkling right through the blue aura that surrounded her at all times, looking like one of the votive candles at church I would love to stand before, pondering, silently. They would laugh at her; incredibly high, speeded-up giggling that sounded like the twittering of birds, but nonetheless showed her great respect, like a queen. And she would gesture to them like a queen, hushing them with a finger to her lips while talking to them as if they were cats approaching a sleeping mouse, "Now be still, look at him, the child, your own brother, he's had a long journey already and a longer one yet ahead, so be still and none of your nonsense, see how tired he is." And they would carry me away for awhile, somewhere, where reality is far more real than what's allowed in the terrestrial realms by the Higher Ones, their own gods and goddesses. They taught me to sing, and made me join their tribal dancing, carried out in fields to the sounds of a thousand drums, stamping designs in the wheat and grass. They would bring me back always in time to see the sun come up — and I would weep — bitter tears that old people cry after watching everyone die, one by one, and leave them, alone in the world of solidified dreams, otherwise known as "reality."

The thing called "time" was a tricky one to get the hang of. The nuns even made little cardboard clocks with movable hands that we had to learn how to manipulate so we could "tell time." I thought it was some kind of representation of the sun. "Go on, tell me the time!" they'd demand, over and over. I thought they meant "tell me the time (when) . . . " — and I'd get so confused and ask them, "tell you the time what?" I thought they wanted me to tell them a story. And they would roll their eyes and make their lips thin and the fey would mock them, rolling their eyes and sticking their fingers in their noses and making me laugh. Then the ruler would appear somewhere out of those voluminous black sleeves, and my desk would receive a loud crack! and the fey would sprout wings and fly into the crack between the two enormous pieces of black slate on the wall, sending chalk dust out in tiny puffs apparently only I could see. "Look at me when I'm talking to you! Now tell me the time!" (Tell you the time what?)

This thing time, what it is, still occupies my thoughts a great deal. I finally understand that it's an illusion, which I can tell is so because it takes time for water to fill the glass, it takes time for me to drink it, and it takes time for me to send it back into the special bowl placed in the special room for that purpose only. Where I experience reality, there is no time to take, no time to give, reality simply is. There is joy. It is not half-full, or half-empty. Joy is present, always. I cannot put it into better words than that for you.

And it seemed to me, until quite recently, that this illusion of time, which is used for everything here, was quite useless. Because we are taught to unconnect everything, time is the result, and time is then the means to try to reconnect it all. Of course, since it's not disconnected really, it's just a game we play with ourselves and each other. Unless it's used for something. And what time can be used for, perhaps what it's meant to be used for, is to experience the joy that is eternally present. Not to just experience it in a different way, but to be able to access it and then experience it at all, here, in this dream. So when I'm filling the glass with water, I have time to put joy into filling the glass. I have time to put joy into drinking the water, and I can even use my time to en-joy a luxurious pee. And the very act of putting joy — that is, en-joying — into anything allows us to feel joy. This is, obviously, a choice we have — free will, in fact. Anything can be experienced as joyful, or joyless.

Where there is no time, joy is felt always. Time isn't needed to feel joy when everything is experienced as connected. It doesn't take anything to be connected, because everything is connected and adds up to one infinite, endless thing; one thing is everything.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Crystal Eyes of 9/11

It is difficult being in this city right now—for the past few days, the tension in the air has been slowly increasing until it's palpable. I have been faithful to my vow to not have a television or radio on, to turn away from any form of news media. One of my offices is but three blocks from Ground Zero; most of my friends who still live near there are experiencing re-emergence of the PTSD that has continued to haunt them these past ten years. I could not walk in the area yesterday without the constant feeling of the need to weep. A patient looked from me to the brilliant clear blue sky out the window and then back to me, commenting how exactly like that exquisitely beautiful day it was, and did I remember? None of us can stop remembering, I answered. A beautiful Indian Summer's day in September has crystallized in our living collective memory as a symbol of sudden leaving and unexplained loss. Each and every one of us now has that crystalline look of the purest blue in our eyes—frozen, cloudless, clear, and unfathomably sad; we all recognize one another by our motionless gaze. There is no language; there are no words; there are only eyes of crystal that cannot stop seeing.

In remembrance of 9/11, the following excerpt is taken from The Risen's Chapter 19: Liberation Dramas:
"From my journal:
     “September 12, 2001 . . . terribly long and horror-filled past 24 hours. Frustrated and afraid . . . no phone service, trying to track down friends who worked in or near the towers . . . exhausted, slept with difficulty. Each time as I began to fall asleep, I was assailed by mental noises of destruction, explosions, vast rumblings, and by the memory of the military planes that shrieked over the city all day long yesterday.
    “I tried to nap . . . at some point I must have finally drifted off . . . and found myself in a smoke-filled area. I couldn’t see the sky nor could I tell if I was inside or outside. The evidence of total chaos was everywhere—massive piles of stone and metal and chunks of concrete all around, as high as 30-story buildings. At first I saw what I thought was snow, but then realized were countless, minute pieces of paper, dust, and fabric falling and swirling all about. I felt that at any minute I would be overwhelmed by it all and could feel myself being pulled back into my body on the bed.
    “I heard the cries of men somewhere beyond in the clouds of smoke and dust. Six or seven firefighters appeared out of the swirling cloud. In spite of the dirt and filth all about them they appeared perfectly clean, even their helmets and coats. They were holding onto each other as if afraid to take a step in any direction. Most of them were crying and groaning, calling out in despair, not in any intelligible words, just sobs of distress.
    “Although I couldn’t sense anyone else around me other than this frightened group of men, somehow I knew exactly what to do. One of them began screaming, “There are still people in there! For God’s sake, we have to find them!” His screams frightened his companions all the more and they began to panic. I feared they might run back off into the nothingness and I would lose them. I stepped forward and grabbed the one that seemed to be strongest in character and pulled him into my arms to calm him with the serenity I knew always dwelled within me. I held him at arm’s length and looked into his eyes, which were rolling wildly about, like an animal that knows death is all around. He never once questioned my presence. I shook him gently to get his attention, and firmly said that I would show them the way out. ‘To the people?’ he asked, meaning the people he believed to be trapped, and I answered, ‘To the people who are waiting for you, yes, this way!’ I turned, and taking his hand, told him to take the hand of the man next to him, and to tell that person to do the same to the man closest to him, and so on until we were all connected in a human chain.
    “I had led them only a few steps forward when a large fire engine materialized out of nowhere. It looked absolutely brand new and shiny, totally unaffected by any of the disaster surrounding us. A beautiful golden light glowed on it from some unseen source. ‘There!’ I cried, ‘There is your truck, get in it now!’ The looks on their faces! They still didn’t understand that they had died and so couldn’t comprehend how a fire engine of such new and immaculate appearance could come out of nowhere. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ I spoke loudly but gently and with total assurance. ‘You don’t have time to think about this, just get in and go!’ I held one of the doors open for them, and then opened another. Somehow they managed to get in without any protests, although they were all sobbing like little children by that point. When the last one was in I shut all the doors behind them and shouted, ‘Drive straight ahead!’ I suddenly felt myself pulled away with great force, as if a rope were tied around my waist, and I was back in my bed, weeping from the intensity of the experience. After a short while I forced myself to get up and write down all I could remember.
    “A little later that afternoon, still deeply disturbed by the events and not feeling rested in any way, I tried napping again and immediately left my body as soon as it relaxed. This time I found myself in what appeared to be some kind of shopping center, perhaps a clothing shop, which had the same war-torn appearance of the environment I had been in earlier with the firefighters. There was the feeling here of being buried alive, as if a great pressure was above and all around me. There was not the total darkness one would assume, but instead everything seemed lit by a dim, grayish phosphorescence. There was also a choking, god-awful smell.
    “I found a woman lying on her side. When I touched her she jumped up with a start, eyes darting madly, mouth open as if wanting to scream but unable to take in any air. I held her hand tightly, for she seemed to want to run away. Another woman and two men ran up to us, crying and gesturing. Without warning they all stopped moving and became completely silent. Their eyes glazed over as if they could no longer see. I couldn’t tell if they were even breathing, and could only assume they had gone into some kind of deep shock, overcome by utter fear and hopelessness.
    “As I helplessly watched, each began to shrink in size and in an instant they were children. They were no longer catatonic but became animated with terror, caught in a nightmare from which they began to shriek for their mommies and daddies to come save them. Whereas a moment before I had hoped that I could somehow reach these poor souls in their adult forms, it was now impossible to contain the hysteria that had broken out amongst them like some contagious disease. I tried to get them to pay attention to me, because I somehow knew that there was an escalator nearby which would take them into the awaiting arms of Risen Ones who would help them. But they ran away screaming and crying into the pitch-blackness that had now descended upon us. I awoke in my bed, heart pounding and breaking from the agony I knew to be theirs, and from my frustration at not being able to help a group of terrified children.”
Although the firefighters were mortally frightened, their years of intensive training, immense courage, and inestimable love and loyalty for one another had contributed to their ability to remain fairly stabilized and clear-headed, even under this unimaginably horrible circumstance. Death had never been far from their day-to-day lives. Surely, each and every one of them had privately thought about, and discussed late into many nights with one another, the probability of their deaths in such a dangerous profession. On that day duty called and they answered without hesitation. And when a Higher Duty called, they hesitated only briefly and then responded to the voice of authority they recognized—as voiced through me in order to guide them to their new destiny. The new fire engine was something they recognized with great familiarity and saw as a source of safety and a symbol of sanity amidst the total chaos. I am so very grateful to those unseen guides and guardians who materialized this symbol of security at the crucial moment.
    I was never able to find my way back to the poor souls who had reverted to their child selves, overwhelmed by the most primitive of human fears of being completely abandoned. They had regressed like this as a kind of psychological defense against all monsters, in hopes that their parents would burst into the room and hold them soothingly, ending the nightmare.
    I was only one of innumerable astral rescuers involved in this world-shattering event. Mediums and channelers, psychic healers, and sensitive persons all around the world answered the calls of spirit distress from the thousands who died in a few moments that day. Knowing this, I also know that all the victims of that event were eventually rescued. A few of the transitioning individuals understood exactly what was happening, but most did not, due almost entirely to the fact that our culture does not widely accept the truth of survival after death. Most were left unprepared for what could have been the most exciting day of their earthly lives. Instead, it became the most traumatic.
    The prayers sent winging to them from all corners of the globe helped them all immensely. The spontaneous candle-lit ceremonies that sprang up on streets and in parks in every earthly community, and the emotionally intense rituals and ceremonies that were planned with great loving care, all contributed to bringing light and clarity into the fear-darkened minds of the fallen. They were enabled to find strength and eventually find their way to the comforting arms of their Risen families and loved ones awaiting them.
    “I was also instantly drawn there, August, as if by a magnet. The emotional distress arising from that great city was a visual and audible explosion of fear, as much from those still embodied as from those who were instantly displaced from their physical forms. Billions upon billions of Risen Ones, countless light beings from other species and other dimensions, the highest of angelic creatures and elementals from water, earth, wind, and flame, entities that have never known what it is to be embodied, and even the vast, deep spirit of Mother Earth—all were instantly summoned to that one tiny spot of fixed location but inestimable value, to lend help to ensure that not one soul would be lost for very long. I assure you that all the souls were eventually brought to the surface of consciousness—some sooner than others, but not a single one went unfound. This was because of the intense wave upon wave of uplifting, positive light-filled emotion, the combined love of all their earthly siblings that washed over them with healing and living light, raising their vibrations until they could see and hear their new Reality as it knelt down to greet them and welcome them Home.”
    “Indeed, Tim, the world changed more in those few hours than it had in the past century, offering humanity the chance to make leaps in quantum qualities that could bring mass-consciousness to a new level of understanding. Each individual consciousness was challenged to either revert back to primitive reactions of fear, hatred, anger, and revenge, or to open and join hearts and hands to find the greater response of love within. It’s obvious to many that a new foundation of love was begun that day. This speaks to a cosmic arrangement of the greatest yet subtle and mysterious complexity that is beyond the conceptual abilities of the human mind, but not beyond the human heart when it comes to joining and supporting. Humanity was catapulted into a greater reality, which reflects the even Greater Reality into which those newly Risen ones eventually found themselves.”
For a little more detail about this rescue event, go here.

In Progress: "Risen on Earth": Risen Weather

(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and may be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.)(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)
How, then, I wondered, am I to relay what they have taught me into our symbolic terrestrial language, which seeks to overlay structures of control? Seeing my dilemma, they suggested that I begin with the concepts of weather and seasons, with the idea that such states are complex, many-layered, fluid, dynamic, and alive. This made much sense to me, because that is how the Risen way of being and living seem to me. They know this quite clearly, as evidenced in the way I’ve noticed they often answer the questions of sitters at mediumistic sittings.

The Risen do have weather and seasons, which begin as emotional and mental events, and then manifest as physical ones – all interweaving and interflowing in such ways as to be seamless and therefore instantaneous. Viewed from a “distance” (another word that loses meaning with the Risen) I’ve often thought I was looking at some kind of crop circle in progress.

Tossing my own attempts at organizing the vast amounts of material I’ve gleaned from my relationships with the Risen into the wind, I let it all enter, freely flowing, to organize itself. When the dust finally settled, the results are now beginning to coalesce into this book, which seems to be about seasons of the heart and mind. One of my Risen companions refers to the book as a “map,” and at my request, helped me understand this with a diagram, which I suppose is a map in its own way, of the spiral of our journey from one season to the next.
(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Friday, September 09, 2011

The Total Passivity of Skepticism

Well-known physical medium, David Thompson, recently responded to ignorant attacks on his professionalism by a "skeptic" who attended one of his amazing sittings. Who are these skeptics, anyway? Do they need any more attention? I happened to be reading "Soul Force" - written by a friend and colleague, Paul Olsen, a brilliant clinical psychologist, psychotherapist and published novelist who transitioned 10 years ago. Published in 1978, I'm not sure if it's still in print. But I found what he had to say about skeptics quite interesting and will share it here:

   "... skepticism is one of the most prevalent and damaging counterforces to recognizing the power of the soul, a short-circuit par excellence of inner energy. It prevents a living connection, and so it keeps us deadened, inert, checks our every movement.
"The problem with skepticism is that it has become an accepted position. It is even supposed to label a person 'smart.' But skepticism is total passivity: you don't have to do, feel, or think anything at all to be a skeptic. All you have to do is say No. You just have to be negative. It's an uncharged position, like a dead battery; it has no life to it. It's a wall trying to dam up a flow.
   "The 'position' is accepted because it comes from the misuse and misunderstanding of the scientific viewpoint which for decades has had us by the throats. It's a show-me position that takes the place of imagination with as deadly an effect as a surgical brain transplant.
   "But why should anyone show me anything? Why should anyone have to prove anything to me?
   "Skepticism is a position of arrogance—and it is utterly devoid of imagination and creativity. No spontaneity at all. Yet how can such total passivity be so arrogant? Precisely because anything so passive, so inert, so without curiosity and a sense of wonder, finds itself cut off from its own energy—and so it lives in a world of being acted upon by forces outside itself, and in its helplessness it becomes arrogant. Helplessness—then it feels fear and becomes a dictator that persecutes anything new and different. In psychology this is called 'overcompensation.' But kids peg it in a different way: inside every bully is a coward. The skeptic hurts himself far more than he can ever hurt you.
   "Maybe at this point you might be asking: what about the 'healthy' skeptic? The person who isn't in the habit of buying the Brooklyn Bridge or getting set up by con men? The 'healthy' skeptic hangs loose. The healthy skeptic doesn't believe everything he hears—but what he does is investigate. Not with the idea of disproving something, but with the idea of finding something that may enrich him. Implicit in the healthy skeptic is that he might find something, and so he sets off actively. He seeks experience. Openly. And so he is not really a skeptic at all. He just wants to do it himself.
   "The true skeptic will ... avoid exploration, the main reason being that someone has suggested it to him. He will call it all nonsense. But how can he know it is anything at all unless he tries? Obviously he won't try, so therefore he knows nothing. Or he will try only to defeat the purpose.
   "It is important for the skeptic that nothing ever happens.
   "So we cay say, with pretty good assurance, that the skeptic keeps himself deliberately in ignorance, in his dark trap. This idea is crucial for almost all that follows. Skepticism is a position of inert, self-willed ignorance. It is soulless.
   "The 'healthy' skeptic, if you want to use that term, will try—with the idea of experiencing something. And that is a position of self-willed knowledge."
We will also reiterate our own recent take on skeptics from August's report on a sitting he attended:
"Just as our book was not written for skeptics, neither do these mediumistic sittings occur for them. Mediumship has recently arrived at a new level on its path, in that it is now abandoning any and all efforts towards educating skeptics. They had their chance, and now they're free to return to their own mentally-darkened basements. We bless them and will welcome them – when they’re finally ready to sit down and be still."

Thursday, September 08, 2011

In Progress: "Risen on Earth": The Unnamed

(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and may be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.)(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)
Having lived much of my life on Earth sustained outside the collective unconscious, due directly to near-constant awareness of, and often, contact with Risen people, many of my perceptions of self and others were informed by that contact. They have been my guides, teachers, and companions, some who were once close or distant relatives, many who are not, and most of whom choose to remain unnamed. Such a choice is not all that odd, considering that the Risen view names much as we might view the weather or the seasons, the difference being that we impose non-changing labels on constantly changing states of environment—Monday and Tuesday, June and July, 1910 and 2010—whereas the Risen experience each moment of change as a new moment, and therefore one that cannot have the same name. They perceive one another as such states of being, and as actual and real; alive, not symbolic.

(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

In Progress: "Risen on Earth": Race Consciousness


(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and may be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.)(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)
Terrestrial race consciousness is a conforming consensus that informs most of earthly shared reality. It is passed on down through the underconsciousness of humanity’s shared experiences. Few are consciously aware of even the existence of race consciousness. Try to imagine what consciousness would be like in a place such as a Risen geography where there is no longer an earthly race consciousness, but instead a non-earthly one. How would it manifest, how would it appear? All the former imbedded, unchallenged invisible beliefs about everything—from illness and aging to the ways light and water are supposed to behave—from instincts like maternal love and survival to so-called “higher ideals” about right and wrong, justice and fate—none of these would be in place anymore. One might wonder if the Risen state of being has its own form of race consciousness. And indeed, there is a kind of “collective consciousness” – the vast difference between ours and theirs is that their collective is conscious, while ours is not—hence, the vast majority of those on Earth exist in a world built, sustained, and maintained by a collective unconsciousness.

(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Tuesday, September 06, 2011

In Progress: "Risen on Earth": Awakened Sensitivity


(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and may be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.)(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Sensitivity is the key to first sense, and then be actively aware of the Risen. This awakened sensitivity is an actual state of spiritual awakeness without fear; this is the Principle of Affinity.  When we are linked to the Risen state in this way, we are more like them. When more like them, we are drawn closer to them. What would it be like to live fully and completely without fear? This is how the Risen live.
(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Monday, September 05, 2011

In Progress: "Risen on Earth" : This Is Not A Test

(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and may be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.)(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)


Being awake means being able to always remember “I am awake” while knowing the difference between waking and sleeping.
Existence in a physical body is an extraordinary experience for a spirit, and yet it is simultaneously a confining one. Most of us live in a near-constant state of “terrestrial tension” brought on by the constriction of our spirit by the heavy materiality of the corporeal body. During waking hours, our spirit usually feels like a bird trapped in a cage, perhaps rattling the bars a bit, but then subsiding into a numbing acceptance that feels disorienting, dissociative, and depressing; less alive. Thus we spend our day.
Conscious awareness of the thrilling feeling of our spirit co-mingling with the body releases this tension. We begin to feel more alive, and more accepting of being alive. More accepting is feeling more gratitude, which feels better. It’s the sensation of joy flowing through our spiritual veins; this is the sensation of ecstasy. Instead of feeling like a grounded, languishing bird, the sensation is more of a balloon, at first, lightly tethered to the earth, floating a bit above the ground. Then the tether unties itself. The quantum lattice of physicality has been expanded by the now-conscious feeling of spirit in the body, and we feel not only larger, but lighter – not just less heavy, but more light-filled, because there is more room for more light.

How to move out of this terrestrial tension? Tim once shared a “Zen Risen Saying” that underscores this concept well: “Do not adjust your screens. This is not a test.” With this attitude of awareness in place, this is how the Risen “move” – not in a forced manner, but more like the way a dandelion seed seemingly drifts without design through the air (although it actually does move according to Design,) or a jellyfish seemingly floats without purpose through the water. They go with the flow, but gently, not forced; intelligently aware, making choices — which we are as yet unable to perceive — as they go.
(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Sunday, September 04, 2011

In Progress: "Risen On Earth": Awakening

"I Sleep Only to Dream of You" by Longan Drink

(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and will be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.) (© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)
The Risen will only speak of that which they know. This accounts for the vast silences attributed to them.
Awakening is something each one must achieve on one’s own. Someone else may briefly wake you up in a spiritual way, but like the physical experience of waking up, you will most often want to go back to sleep—you won’t want to wake up. One most often must struggle to awaken, and to stay awake.

When one first awakens into the Risen state, there are incredible feelings—of surprise, wonder, awe. The eyes are suddenly truly open. One is totally aware of the miracle of one’s Self. This is the feeling one ought to be experiencing in terrestrial embodiment, but seldom does.

This is the feeling of Awakening:  “Oh. My. God. I’m alive. I’m really here. Oh! My! God! I’m alive! I’m really here! Yippee!—and then—thank you.

Make this following exercise as deeply real as possible, in all details. Imagine you are dying, and the doctor says there is no prognosis, no hope. You’ve never believed in anything except the finality of death. You continued to go downhill. At the end, you fall asleep, but really, you die. Gone. Forever. You are no more. No consciousness. No awareness. Nothing. All gone.

But —then you wake up.

Are you able to at least begin to feel the awe, wonder, and surprise—even the disbelief—at being really here?

The Risen feel this all the time. And so can we, while still on the earth.
(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Saturday, September 03, 2011

In Progress: "Risen On Earth": Perfection



(The following is part of an on-going series of entries from the raw material that is being transmitted by the Risen Assembly, and discerned by August and Tim, and will be finding its way into their next book, Risen On Earth.)(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

I have asked the Risen, at different times and in different ways, "As it has sometimes been advised to us on earth, are you also advised to be perfect in all ways; do you strive for it, and are you successful?" They have answered in as many different ways, which could be summed thusly: 
"It could be said that in our new geography, we are more aware of what perfection is and is not. Our achieved awareness is that there is no 'is not' and so perfection is. There is only One, which is us, you, everyone at once together. So we do not strive, but rather, in our thinking move toward or away from the awareness of the 'is of perfection.' Whether on earth, or where we are, each individuated part of the whole -- that is, each individual -- is able to freely choose to move in different, individuated ways, with more or less ease, the movement of which is completely dependent on one's use of Mind. That is, on creating thoughts to manifest what is. And since 'what is' is all there is, there is only perfection. Any seeming lack of perfection is the result of some kind of inaccuracy -- intentional or not --  in the use of Mind. When one reaches a certain level of awareness, of being awake, the use of thought can no longer be unintentional. If one is still thinking in terms of imperfection, it is due to certain veils being worn that blind and deafen the senses of what is."

(© Tempestina Teapot Books 2011)

Friday, September 02, 2011

Coast to Coast

Quite recently, simultaneously, and, synchronistically, several emails arrived from readers and non-readers of The Risen letting us know they recently heard August on the Coast To Coast show, which was broadcast a year ago today on September 3rd (has it really been a year?). Each person got something very different, but very uplifting, from what they heard, and we are most thankful for their sharing this with us, and especially for their letting us know they are going to ask the folks at C2C to ask August back again sometime.

A reader suggests that one can email the producer and also email George Noory to request a repeat guest appearance by August Goforth.