SoulGate

begin

2012-01-09T05:01:00.029+11:00

Begin your journey.

Walking the path to your destiny will set you free.

Path of evolution

"Destiny is not a matter of chance;

it's a matter of choice.

It's not a thing to be waited for;

it is a thing to be achieved.*"

what limits our choices?...

*[William Jennings Bryan, a peace advocate, supporter of popular democracy,1860-1925]
.

'the invitation'

2012-01-09T01:26:00.003+11:00

by
Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah from her book, THE INVITATION (c)1999. Published by HarperONE, San Francisco. All rights reserved. Presented with permission of the author. www.oriah.org
Oriah Mountain Dreamer's insightful poem, The Invitation is also now available as an unabridged audiobook, read in full by the author.

To keep up to date with Oriah's news, subscribe to her FaceBook page or blog, The Green Bough.

bright lights and safe harbours

2011-12-12T19:54:00.014+11:00

Do not loose heart. We were made for these times.

by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D., author of "Women who Run with Wolves"

"I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world right now. It is true, one has to have strong cojones and ovarios to withstand much of what passes for "good" in our culture today. Abject disregard of what the soul finds most precious and irreplaceable and the corruption of principled ideals have become, in some large societal arenas, "the new normal," the grotesquerie of the week. It is hard to say which one of the current egregious matters has rocked people's worlds and beliefs more. Ours is a time of almost daily jaw-dropping astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people.

...You are right in your assessments. The lustre and hubris some have aspired to while endorsing acts so heinous against children, elders, everyday people, the poor, the unguarded, the helpless, is breathtaking. Yet ... I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is — we were made for these times. Yes. For years, we have been learning, practising, been in training for and just waiting to meet on this exact plain of engagement. I cannot tell you often enough that we are definitely the leaders we have been waiting for, and that we have been raised since childhood for this time precisely.

...I grew up on the Great Lakes and recognize a seaworthy vessel when I see one. Regarding awakened souls, there have never been more able crafts in the waters than there are right now across the world. And they are fully provisioned and able to signal one another as never before in the history of humankind. I would like to take your hands for a moment and assure you that you are built well for these times. Despite your stints of doubt, your frustrations in arighting all that needs change right now, or even feeling you have lost the map entirely, you are not without resource, you are not alone. Look out over the prow; there are millions of boats of righteous souls on the waters with you. In your deepest bones, you have always known this is so. Even though your veneers may shiver from every wave in this stormy roil, I assure you that the long timbers composing your prow and rudder come from a greater forest. That long-grained lumber is known to withstand storms, to hold together, to hold its own, and to advance, regardless.

...We have been in training for a dark time such as this, since the day we assented to come to Earth. For many decades, worldwide, souls just like us have been felled and left for dead in so many ways over and over — brought down by naiveté, by lack of love, by suddenly realizing one deadly thing or another, by not realizing something else soon enough, by being ambushed and assaulted by various cultural and personal shocks in the extreme. We have a history of being gutted, and yet remember this especially ... we have also, of necessity, perfected the knack of resurrection. Over and over again we have been the living proof that that which has been exiled, lost, or foundered — can be restored to life again. This is as true and sturdy a prognosis for the destroyed worlds around us as it was for our own once mortally wounded selves.

...Though we are not invulnerable, our risibility supports us to laugh in the face of cynics who say "fat chance," and "management before mercy," and other evidences of complete absence of soul sense. This, and our having been to Hell and back on at least one momentous occasion, makes us seasoned vessels for certain. Even if you do not feel that you are, you are. Even if your puny little ego wants to contest the enormity of your soul, that smaller self can never for long subordinate the larger Self. In matters of death and rebirth, you have surpassed the benchmarks many times. Believe the evidence of any one of your past testings and trials. Here it is: Are you still standing? The answer is, Yes! (And no adverbs like "barely" are allowed here). If you are still standing, ragged flags or no, you are able. Thus, you have passed the bar. And even raised it. You are seaworthy.

...In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. Do not make yourself ill with overwhelm. There is a tendency too to fall into being weakened by persevering on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails. We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn't you ask for grace? Don't you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the voice greater? You have all the resource you need to ride any wave, to surface from any trough.

...In the language of aviators and sailors, ours is to sail forward now, all balls out. Understand the paradox: If you study the physics of a waterspout, you will see that the outer vortex whirls far more quickly than the inner one. To calm the storm means to quiet the outer layer, to cause it, by whatever countervailing means, to swirl much less, to more evenly match the velocity of the inner, far less volatile core — till whatever has been lifted into such a vicious funnel falls back to Earth, lays down, is peaceable again. One of the most important steps you can take to help calm the storm is to not allow yourself to be taken in a flurry of overwrought emotion or despair — thereby accidentally contributing to the swale and the swirl. Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts — adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take "everyone on Earth" to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.

...One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires ... causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these — to be fierce and to show mercy toward others, both — are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.

...There will always be times in the midst of "success right around the corner, but as yet still unseen" when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it; I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate. The reason is this: In my uttermost bones I know something, as do you. It is that there can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth, who you serve, and who sent you here. The good words we say and the good deeds we do are not ours: They are the words and deeds of the One who brought us here. In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But ... that is not what great ships are built for.

...This comes with much love and prayer that you remember where you came from, and why you came to this beautiful, needful Earth."

CODAThe original title is "Letter To A Young Activist During Troubled Times:" with the subtitle, "Do Not Lose Heart, We were Made for These Times." It was written in 2001.
©2003-2010 C.P. Estés, All rights reserved. Reprinted here under the Creative Commons License by which author and publishers grant permission to copy, distribute and transmit this particular work under the conditions that use be non-commercial, that the work be used in its entirety word for word, and not altered or added to, not subtracted from, and that it carry author's name and this full copyright notice. For other Permissions: Web Rights and Permissions Department ngandelman @ gmail.co

Dr. Estés is an American poet, Jungian psychoanalyst; Member of Hispanic Journalists; Post-trauma specialist; Board member Author's Guild, New York. Her doctorate is in ethno-clinical psychology.

The author of many books on the life of the soul, her work is published in 38 languages. She often speaks as "distinguished visiting scholar" and "diversity scholar" at universities.

Her book, 'Women Who Run With the Wolves' was on the New York Times Best Seller list for 145 weeks.

Subscribe to Dr. Estés on FaceBook.

'hieroglyphic stairway'

2011-12-12T12:12:00.020+11:00

by Drew Dellinger

it's 3:23 in the morning
and I'm awake
because my great great grandchildren
won't let me sleep
my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?

surely you did something
when the seasons started failing?

as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying?

did you fill the streets with protest
when democracy was stolen?

what did you do
once
you
knew?

I'm riding home on the Colma train
I've got the voice of the milky way in my dreams

I have teams of scientists
feeding me data daily
and pleading I immediately
turn it into poetry

I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech

I am the desirous earth
equidistant to the underworld
and the flesh of the stars

I am everything already lost

the moment the universe turns transparent
and all the light shoots through the cosmos

I use words to instigate silence

I'm a hieroglyphic stairway
in a buried Mayan city
suddenly exposed by a hurricane

a satellite circling earth
finding dinosaur bones
in the Gobi desert
I am telescopes that see back in time

I am the precession of the equinoxes,
the magnetism of the spiraling sea

I'm riding home on the Colma train
with the voice of the milky way in my dreams

I am myths where violets blossom from blood
like dying and rising gods

I'm the boundary of time
soul encountering soul
and tongues of fire

it's 3:23 in the morning
and I can't sleep
because my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the earth was unraveling?

I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech

∞

© Drew Dellinger, a poet, teacher, writer and speaker who has inspired minds and hearts around the world, performing poetry and keynoting on justice, ecology, cosmology and compassion. He is also a consultant, publisher, and founder of Planetize the Movement Press. More about Drew here.
For more mind-bending poetry, go to Drew's website
For updates subscribe to Drew's FaceBook page

ties that bind

2011-10-06T19:02:00.003+11:00

"Sometimes when kindred souls touch, whether that is born through a physical or a virtual moment, the energy that binds is real and transcends anything that we can comprehend."

[W. Clyburn, 2008; from personal correspondence]

Galaxy Pair captured by the Hubble telescope

cat dreamer

2011-09-08T19:17:00.007+10:00

Cat goddess. I dreamt of her last night.

Origami Bastet by Joseph Wu Origami

And snakes. Two twining brightly multi-coloured snakes. The cat-goddess and the snakes seemed to happily coexist.

Ouroboros (cc)

Ancients believed that dreams are premonitions predicting the future:

The first known book on dream interpretation, now called the 'Chester Beatty papyrus' (dating from the 12th dynasty), came from Thebes in Upper Egypt, and is preserved in the British Museum.
In Homer's Illiad, Agamemnon is visited by a messenger of the god Zeus to prescribe his future actions.
From India, a document called the Atharvaveda (dated to the 2nd C BCE) contains a chapter on dream omens.
A Babylonian dream guide was discovered in ruins of the city of Ninevah among tablets from the library of Ashurbanipal (685-627BC).

The moment light peeped through the cracks between my eyelids, my inner Jungan dream analyst sprung into action.

According to Jung, cat represents instinctual energy that's been tamed and is relatively close to consciousness; feminine power/energy; the feminine archetype.

In ancient Egypt the feline-headed goddess Bastet, was considered a personification of the soul of Isis. Isis being the goddess of protection and sensual pleasure.

Ancient Egyptians praised cats for their ability to kill snakes, even cobras.

Bastet's twin, or her mirror, goddess Sekhmet, wears a cobra crown.

Given that in ancient Greece the serpent was seen as a healer - Asclepius carried two intertwined on his wand (a symbol today associated with medicine and/or healing) - it makes more sense that it was actually Sehmet I dreamt of. The lion-headed war mother-goddess, who is also the goddess of the sun, healing and healers, is cat elevated to its most powerful expression of feminine energy.

Australian Aboriginal rock painting of the "Rainbow Serpent" by Mark O'Neil (GNU).

The original custodians of this burned land of Oz I call home, consider the Rainbow Serpent as a benevolent protector of its people. It is closely linked to water, land, social relationships, life and fertility. Again, things feminine.

The message of the dream? Although I set out on the info gathering, analytical path, my conclusion is purely from instinct:

Healing of the world lies in full acceptance of the feminine power.

‎"Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives."

[William C. Dement, professor of psychiatry (b. 1928)]

signs along the path

2011-07-17T21:12:00.042+10:00

This post was germinated about three years ago when my life began to be infiltrated by multiple ones - as in the number 1 - and my excruciatingly logical mind tried relentlessly to comprehend. At first triple ones (111), then 11:11s.

Couple of days ago I received an email via this blog that prompted me to revisit my musings and finally make the post public.

A mini evolution of '1'

Multiple ones continue to haunt me: My newest post-code has 111 in it, as does the new phone number and my most recent bank account number. On new years eve of 2010 my stove clock stopped working at 1:11; A message in my IM said 111 of my messages were not delivered (none were actually missing(?)). Not to mention countless times of looking at the clock at precisely 01:11 or 11:10 or 11:11. Incidentally, my birth soul number is 11, as is my year’s path number for 2011, so somehow it seemed logical that none of these peculiar coincidences should surprise me. Surprised, yes; Coincidences, no.

I’ve always had an affinity for numbers, and in an attempt to unravel the mystery of the haunting 1s I turned to both scientific and mystical fields for answers.

Science says that we live in a causal universe where for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Some call that karma. To me it says that there is meaning behind everything, however obscure it may seem at first.

According to Kabbala, many coincidences make a law. Carl Gustav Jung called this law synchronicity - the experience of two or more events, that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance, that are observed to occur together in a meaningful manner.

This concept maintains that just as events may be grouped by cause, they may also be grouped by their meaning. Since meaning is a complex mental construct, subject to conscious and unconscious influences, not every correlation in the grouping of events by meaning needs to have an explanation in terms of cause and effect.

Diagram illustrating C. G. Jung's synchronicity concept

Although there are various systems dealing with numbers and no common definition for the meaning of specific digits, I am convinced that it is only in the bringing together of all the pieces of information that we can glean the scope of the context and get closer to the true picture.

Causality and synchronicity may not be mutually interdependent but it is probably safe to say that there are two aspects to the multiple 1s mystery: The symbology of the numbers themselves (1, 11, 111 and 11:11) and the meaning behind their synchronistic influx.

SYMBOLOGY

ONE/ 1

1 is coprime to itself, being the only natural number with this property.

In Pythagorean Mathematics, One point = the generator of dimensions.

In numerology one (1) can mean a number of things: Root of Unity, Beginning, Reason, Individual, Self-reliance, First, Pioneer, Alone, Leadership, Yang, amongst other meanings.

It also represents the sky and is the solar number according to the Kabbala and the Tarot.

In I Ching, Hexagram 1 is named 乾 (qián), "Force". Other variations include "the creative (force)", "strong action", "the key", and "God". Its inner (lower) trigram is ☰ (乾 qián) force = (天) heaven, and its outer (upper) trigram is the same, heaven.

In the beginning was Heaven, Creative Power of God. It is symbolized by a flying dragon, an ancient symbol of an electrically charged, dynamic, arousing force that bodes well for creative initiatives.

In the Periodic Table of Elements, Hydrogen is the chemical element with atomic number 1 ie. has one proton in it's nucleus. It also happens to be the most abundant chemical element in the universe; apparently constituting roughly 75% of the Universe's chemical elemental mass.

Generally speaking, symbolically, anything to do with number one (1) can be linked back to the prime creative force (sometimes called, God) and/or new cycles of the Spiritual Path.

ELEVEN/ 11

Hexagram 11 is named 泰 (tài), "Pervading". Other variations include "peace" and "greatness". Its inner trigram is ☰ (乾 qián) force = (天) heaven, and its outer trigram is ☷ (坤 kūn) field = (地) earth. As hexagrams are read from bottom to top it reads, Heaven on Earth.

Sodium (Na) has the atomic number 11. It has one stable isotope. Elemental sodium does not occur naturally on Earth, because it quickly oxidises in air and is violently reactive with water.

In numerology, 11 is considered a master number (meaning, it is not reduced to a single digit number in calculations). Symbolically, it is known as the psychics' number, representing high intuition and sensitivity, illumination and a channel to the higher self. It represents the channel for the information between the higher and the lower, between the realm of the archetype and the relative world. Ideas, thoughts, understanding and insight are united without having to go through rational thought process. It is a bridge, or connection, between conscious (earth) and unconscious (heaven) realms, that attunes a person to a high level of intuition through which what we call psychic information, can flow.

One as a mirror to itself, a reflection of the Heavens on Earth as in the Hermetic axiom, “As above so below”. As with elemental sodium, a reflection has no life of its own and what it does have, is fleeting.

ELEVENTYONE/ 111

111 times 11 = 12321

"Eleventyone", also known as 111, is satirised Internet slang for over-exclamation in typed statements. [Has a good 'sound' to it.]

In mathematics, 111 is a perfect totientnumber. Like many perfect totient numbers, 111 has only 3 multiples: 3, 37 and itself.

The smallest magic square using only 1 and prime numbers has a magic constant of 111.

In Pythagoras’ Tree, Orders are built on 1 with 1+1. 3 squares - the Holy Trinity multiplied(?).

The Gospel of Thomas, (106) - Jesus said, "When you make the two one, you will become children of Adam, and when you say, 'Mountain, move from here!' it will move away."

Ezekiel 37:17 – “And join them one to another into one, that they may become one again.”

Roentgenium (Rg) is a synthetic radioactive chemical element with the atomic number 111. Although a sufficiently stable isotope has not yet been produced in a significant amount, it is thought that this position is of a heavier homologue of gold.

In the Holy Trinity, together, the Father and the Son are the Holy Spirit. Mathematically this could be presented as: 1+1=1 or, One into One becomes One.

When we embrace our heritage (The Father of life), by merging soul consciousness (heaven) and life spirit (earth) into one again, we become like the first human, Adapa - untainted by division - and our full potential can be realised once again.

ELEVEN MIRRORED/ 11:11

In 11:11 we see 22 as the 11 twins, or 11 mirrored (which in itself is a mirror of One). In numerology, master numbers (11 and 22) are never reduced, however there is surely something more at play here.

A pair of 11s has the power of 22, which represents the Master Builder, the person capable of perceiving something great in the archetypal world.

Symbolism of 22 warns that only by marshaling collective forces (bringing together the 11s) is it possible to bring together the necessary elements - people, ideas, resources - that will enable realisation of the ultimate goal - Evolution of consciousness.

11:11 is the symbol of the second Hermetic principle, “What is the above is from the below and the below is from the above. The work of wonders is from One.”

It shouldn’t then seem strange that the New Agers tend to share the belief that 11:11 is the number heralding spiritual awakening.

MEANING…?

All that summed up (pun intended), where does it leave us?

The dictum of the Pythagorean school was, ‘All is number’. What this meant was that all things of the universe had a numerical attribute that uniquely described them. Numbers mirror our world and so can be used as the signposts along the road of life.

The grand architect of the universe certainly didn’t leave much out: The human brain is wired to pick up patterns and once made aware of a particular pattern, the brain becomes sensitised to it. Once the scotoma, the blind spot, is removed by our mind dropping it’s guard so that particular signposts can be brought to our attention, we begin to perceive signposts all around. It is not that they had not been there before, rather that we were unaware of them. The real value of that lies in the demonstration of the mind's power to perceive the universal "truth" in nearly anything, since everything is connected.

There is definitely something about 1s and this year in particular - It includes four striking dates: 1/1/11, 11/1/11, 1/11/11 and 11/11/11 - signposts.

Obviously, they imbue the symbolism of 1 and its twins, triplets and quadruplets. Considering the symbolisms, this year is the marker on and of the evolutionary ladder.

It heralds the time to remember.

In the words of Pythagoras,

‘To cognize the Divine Essence — this is the highest purpose of soul, sent by the Creator to the Earth!’

When the critical mass of thinking/self aware beings remember who they are – a union of the Father (heaven) and the Son (earth) – the effect will ripple through human consciousness and everyone will instantly become aware of who they are. And the game will be won - We can ascend/move on home, at will.

So what is the object of this game of life?

The purpose of life is to learn how to play.

FOR A BIT OF LIGHT RELIEF

Take the last 2 digits of the year you were born, add to the age you will be on your birthday this year and it WILL = 111.

eg. Say you were born in 1973, your age this year is 38 ∴ 73+38= 111

Try it with anyone's birth date; it works for every one of them.

Digitally produced Pythagoras' Tree

ADDITIONAL INFO:

Gematria of 111 at 'Riding the Beast'

Skeptic’s Dictionary on the ‘law of truly large numbers (coincidence)’

A YouTube video ‘11:11 Getting your attention?’

Excerpts from ‘Man and His Symbols’ by Carl Gustav Jung (1961)

jam to-morrow

2011-07-17T19:31:00.001+10:00

From one of my favourite mathematicians whose literary works flirt with numerology and esotericism:

'It's very good jam,' said the Queen.

'Well, I don't want any TO-DAY, at any rate.'

'You couldn't have it if you DID want it,' the Queen said. 'The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday--but never jam to-day.'

'It MUST come sometimes to "jam to-day,"' Alice objected.

'No, it can't,' said the Queen. 'It's jam every OTHER day: to-day isn't any OTHER day, you know.'

'I don't understand you,' said Alice. 'It's dreadfully confusing!'

'That's the effect of living backwards,' the Queen said kindly: 'it always makes one a little giddy at first--'

'Living backwards!' Alice repeated in great astonishment. 'I never heard of such a thing!'

'--but there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways.'

'I'm sure MINE only works one way,' Alice remarked. 'I can't remember things before they happen.'

'It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,' the Queen remarked.

[Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (1871), by Lewis Carroll]

'ancient prediction'

2011-04-30T16:43:00.014+10:00

Legendary English witch and soothsayer, Mother Shipton (circa 1486-1561) seemingly foretold many modern events and phenomena.

Although no biographical information concerning Mother Shipton is based upon trustworthy sources and her identity seems clouded in here-say and flights of fancy, someone did write the verses first published in 1448 then republished in 1641.

The most famous claimed edition of Mother Shipton's prophecies (published in 1862), widely quoted today as if it were the original, contains over a hundred prophetic rhymed couplets in notably non-sixteenth-century language. Many of the rhymes are obscure and like many obscure riddles - such as those of Nostradamus - can be moulded to fit a number of events.

Still, whoever wrote these verses seems to have had an incredible gift of foresight.

You be the judge.

ANCIENT PREDICTION

(Popularly entitled, 'Mother Shipton's Prophecy')

And now a word, in uncouth rhyme

Of what shall be in future time.

Then upside down the world shall be

And gold found at the root of tree

All England's sons that plough the land

Shall oft be seen with Book in hand.

The poor shall now great wisdom know

Great houses stand in far-flung vale

All covered o'er with snow and hail.

A carriage without horse will go

Disaster fill the world with woe.

In London, Primrose Hill shall be

In centre hold a Bishop's See

Around the world men's thoughts will fly

Quick as the twinkling of an eye.

And water shall great wonders do

How strange. And yet it shall come true.

Through towering hills proud men shall ride

No horse or ass move by his side.

Beneath the water, men shall walk

Shall ride, shall sleep, shall even talk.

And in the air men shall be seen

In white and black and even green.

A great man then, shall come and go

For prophecy declares it so.

In water, iron, then shall float

As easy as a wooden boat

Gold shall be seen in stream and stone

In land that is yet unknown.

And England shall admit a Jew

You think this strange, but it is true

The Jew that once was held in scorn

Shall of a Christian then be born.

A house of glass shall come to pass

In England. But Alas, alas

A war will follow with the work

Where dwells the Pagan and the Turk.

These states will lock in fiercest strife

And seek to take each other's life.

When North shall thus divide the south

And Eagle build in Lion's mouth

Then tax and blood and cruel war

Shall come to every humble door.

Three times shall lovely sunny France

Be led to play a bloody dance

Before the people shall be free

Three tyrant rulers shall she see.

Three rulers in succession be

Each springs from different dynasty.

Then when the fiercest strife is done

England and France shall be as one.

The British olive shall next then twine

In marriage with a German vine.

Men walk beneath and over streams

Fulfilled shall be their wondrous dreams.

For in those wondrous far off days

The women shall adopt a craze

To dress like men, and trousers wear

And to cut off their locks of hair.

They'll ride astride with brazen brow

As witches do on broomstick now.

And roaring monsters with man atop

Does seem to eat the verdant crop

And men shall fly as birds do now

And give away the horse and plough.

There'll be a sign for all to see

Be sure that it will certain be.

Then love shall die and marriage cease

And nations wane as babes decrease.

And wives shall fondle cats and dogs

And men live much the same as hogs.

In nineteen hundred and twenty six

Build houses light of straw and sticks.

For then shall mighty wars be planned

And fire and sword shall sweep the land.

When pictures seem alive with movements free

When boats like fishes swim beneath the sea,

When men like birds shall scour the sky

Then half the world, deep drenched in blood shall die.

For those who live the century through

In fear and trembling this shall do.

Flee to the mountains and the dens

To bog and forest and wild fens.

For storms will rage and oceans roar

When Gabriel stands on sea and shore

And as he blows his wondrous horn

Old worlds die and new be born.

A fiery Dragon will cross the sky

Six times before this earth shall die

Mankind will tremble and frightened be

For the sixth heralds in this prophecy.

For seven days and seven nights

Man will watch this awesome sight.

The tides will rise beyond their ken

To bite away the shores and then

The mountains will begin to roar

And earthquakes split the plain to shore.

And flooding waters, rushing in

Will flood the lands with such a din

That mankind cowers in muddy fen

And snarls about his fellow men.

He bares his teeth and fights and kills

And secrets food in secret hills

And ugly in his fear, he lies

To kill marauders, thieves and spies.

Man flees in terror from the floods

And kills, and rapes and lies in blood

And spilling blood by mankind's hands

Will stain and bitter many lands.

And when the Dragon's tail is gone,

Man forgets, and smiles, and carries on

To apply himself -- too late, too late

For mankind has earned deserved fate.

His masked smile -- his false grandeur

Will serve the Gods their anger stir.

And they will send the Dragon back

To light the sky -- his tail will crack

Upon the earth and rend the earth

And man shall flee, King, Lord, and serf.

But slowly they are routed out

To seek diminishing water spout

And men will die of thirst before

The oceans rise to mount the shore.

And lands will crack and rend anew

You think it strange. It will come true.

And in some far off distant land

Some men -- oh such a tiny band

Will have to leave their solid mount

And span the earth, those few to count,

Who survives this (unreadable) and then

Begin the human race again.

But not on land already there

But on ocean beds, stark, dry and bare

Not every soul on Earth will die

As the Dragon's tail goes sweeping by.

Not every land on earth will sink

But these will wallow in stench and stink

Of rotting bodies of beast and man

Of vegetation crisped on land.

But the land that rises from the sea

Will be dry and clean and soft and free

Of mankind's dirt and therefore be

The source of man's new dynasty.

And those that live will ever fear

The Dragons tail for many year

But time erases memory

You think it strange. But it will be.

And before the race is built anew

A silver serpent comes to view

And spew out men of like unknown

To mingle with the earth now grown

Cold from its heat and these men can

Enlighten the minds of future man.

To intermingle and show them how

To live and love and thus endow

The children with the second sight.

A natural thing so that they might

Grow graceful, humble and when they do

The Golden Age will start anew.

~ Mother Shipton, her Life and Prophecies at 'Mysterious Britain & Ireland; Mysteries, Legends and the Paranormal'

~ Mother Shipton's Cave, Petrifying Well & Historic Park website
~ 'The changing face of Mother Shipton' at BBC

'A Dream Within a Dream'

2011-03-27T14:59:00.010+11:00

And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

[from, The Complete Illustrated Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe]

pregnant pause

2011-03-14T08:43:00.001+11:00

In the blackness of deep water lies a pregnant pause.

My dreams slumber there. Waiting.
.
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Han-nah-a-haq-sah

2010-12-22T15:36:00.024+11:00

...these syllables infiltrated the chambers of my mind one day while walking to the car park after work. They echoed there for the following 9 days, incessantly.

So I became obsessed with finding out what, if anything, they meant. I searched for their meaning for years.

On my trip to Egypt, I met Basaam, an Egyptologist from the Cairo Museum. He was surprised, asked how I knew that, where I got it from - Explaining that the phrase "just came to me" was a challenge.

This is their meaning:

Lady of Heaven,
creatress,
the Great Mother,
she who knows the words of power;
You, the container of the Holy Blood of Isis,
the wise blood, the spirit of intelligence
You render me immortal.

at Hat-shep-sut's temple, Deir el-Bahri

...a few short syllables, yet so much meaning...
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awakening

2010-11-11T14:46:00.008+11:00

I simply sank into the first conclusion...

Slept like the dead, for days. Weeks. Years. Like the soil. Totally immovable.

Entombed in the womb of time. I sank deep.

Falling.

Forgotten...

I haven't lifted my eyelids in a lifetime. And I'm down to my last dream.

Amaranth, the immortal, sings the song of awakening...

Love-Lies-Bleeding Amaranth

...
Immortal Amarant, a Flour which once

In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life

Began to bloom, but soon for mans offence

To Heav'n remov'd where first it grew, there grows,

And flours aloft shading the Fount of Life,

And where the river of Bliss through midst of

Heavn Rowls o're Elisian Flours her Amber stream;

With these that never fade the Spirits elect

Bind thir resplendent locks inwreath'd with beams...

[Paradise Lost (1667), iii. 353: by John Milton]
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walk alone

2010-10-19T11:57:00.006+11:00

if they answer not your call, walk alone …

if they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,

open thy mind and speak out... alone

[Gandhi]

song of songs

2010-08-24T17:09:00.009+10:00

"Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away."

[The Song of Solomon 8:4-8:6]

No idea why I felt compelled to share this here. It popped into my head the other day at a seminar and... stayed.
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'Gods and geniuses'

2010-03-30T14:50:00.027+11:00

The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty,
the hands & feet Proportion.
As the air to a bird of the sea to a fish,
so is contempt to the contemptible.
The crow wish'd every thing was black,
the owl, that every thing was white.
Exuberance is Beauty.

If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads
without Improvement, are roads of Genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.
Where man is not nature is barren.
Truth can never be told so as to be understood,
and not be believ'd.

The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects
with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and
adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers,
mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged &
numerous senses could percieve.

And particularly they studied the genius of each city &
country, placing it under its mental deity.
Till a system was formed, which some took advantage of and
enslav'd the vulgar by attempting to realize or
abstract the mental deities from their objects;
thus began Priesthood.

Choosing forms of worship from poetic tales.
And a length they pronounc'd that
the Gods had order'd such things.

Thus men forgot that All deities reside in the human breast.

[by William Blake, from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell,
plates 10 & 11: Proverbs of Hell]

O people, men born on the Earth, ...

2010-03-18T12:51:00.007+11:00

... who indulge
in drunkenness, sleep, and the ignorance of the Source!

Sober up, cease your surfeit, awake from your dullness!

Why do you give up yourselves to death while
you have power to partake of immortality?

Depart from dark path, be partakers of immortality,
abandon forever your vices!

Nowhere but in the Source can you find good!

[From Hermes’ address to the Egyptians]
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not how it semes

2010-01-11T23:11:00.008+11:00

Aoccdrnig to rsecearh, it deosnt mttaer waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, olny taht the frist and lsat leettr be in the rghit pclae.

Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, in snuqecee, but the wrod as a wlohe!

Deos tihs say semoehtnig aubot our itnane utsrndeanindg of wolhesenss?...

Gvie it smoe tuhgoht!

More about the research at MRC Cognition and Brain Sciences Unit at Cambridge
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the Avatar phenomenon

2010-01-05T13:11:00.050+11:00

As myths go, the story of the Avatar is my absolute favourite. If you’ve been reading this blog from the beginning, it should be quite clear why. Once I understood the basic concept behind the word, my inexplicable experiences had found their context. Or should I say, I realised I wasn’t crazy after all.

Needless to say, I loved James Cameron’s film, Avatar. The story superbly weaves a number of profound themes totally relevant to today, to deliver truly immersive, spectacular entertainment.

What struck me is that Cameron, like George Lucas, seems to have been a student of mythology:

“And the only myth that is going to be worth thinking about in the immediate future is one that is talking about the planet, not the city, not these people, but the planet, and everybody on it.” [Joseph Campbell, 1904-1987]

.
‘Avatar’ delivers a broad environmental message by echoing a prime mythology: Man's need to understand himself and his place in the greater scheme of things.

It's title and story reference an ancient Sanskrit word meaning, "to cross over". That is, to deliberately descend the soul - assumed to be a self-aware conscious energy - into a life-form in a different dimension to experience and contribute to that life-form’s reality.

The simple act of consciousness projecting into another dimension defines the concept. The consciousness becomes the Avatar.

We're replicating the myth not just in new versions of the story, but also in virtual worlds like Second Life (SL), Blue Mars (BM) and various 3D games.

However, I don't agree that all virtual worlds are quite games. A game, by definition, is a structured activity with a specific goal and rules. The only limitations imposed in virtual worlds like SL and BM, are those of technology and people's imaginations.

Like life, the only purpose of the 'game' is to learn how to play. They help us remember who we truly are - the All of the One.

The need to connect with other soul-nodes is an innate one. The Social Networking phenomenon is a clear indicator that there are not only people looking for answers in the heavens to understand the human place, but that souls are looking toward each other to understand their spiritual place. In the end, we're not human beings on a spiritual journey, we are spiritual beings on a human journey.

The film’s box office ultimately confirms the audience’s need to immerse in this kind of mythology. After all, it is the story of who we are.

The ancients – the ones who came up with (or are represented in) the story of the Avatar myth – called this age, the one we live in, The End Times, the time of Awakening.

Which is the real world, which is the dream …?…

अवतार

DNA fone home!

2009-12-19T16:38:00.031+11:00

When I connect with people who resonate on my wavelength I feel empowered, as if our connection increases my amplitude.

Couple of years ago I had an amazing chat with a dear friend. We were deliberating why and how some people are 'connected' beyond comprehension.

They feel not only an immense pull towards each other, but finish each other’s sentences, experience events the same way, sense intense emotions in each other’s lives. We were wondering if DNA recognises its kind by emitting some type of a signal, acting as a beacon in search of it's 'brethren'.

Little did we know that scientists were wondering the same.

DNA Double Helices Recognise Mutual Sequence Homology in a Protein Free Environment

"DNA has been found to have a bizarre ability to put itself together, even at a distance, when according to known science it shouldn't be able to. No explanation, at least not yet.

Scientists are reporting evidence that contrary to our current beliefs about what is possible, intact double-stranded DNA has the amazing ability to recognize similarities in other DNA strands from a distance. Somehow they are able to identify one another, and the tiny bits of genetic material tend to congregate with similar DNA. The recognition of similar sequences in DNA’s chemical subunits, occurs in a way unrecognized by science. There is no known reason why the DNA is able to combine the way it does, and from a current theoretical standpoint this feat should be chemically impossible.

Even so, the research published in ACS’ Journal of Physical Chemistry B, shows very clearly that homology recognition between sequences of several hundred nucleotides occurs without physical presence of proteins. Double helixes of DNA can recognize matching molecules from a distance and then gather together, all seemingly without help from any other molecules or chemical signals.

In the study, scientists observed the behaviour of fluorescently tagged DNA strands placed in water that contained no proteins or other material that could interfere with the experiment. Strands with identical nucleotide sequences were about twice as likely to gather together as DNA strands with different sequences. No one knows how individual DNA strands could possibly be communicating in this way, yet somehow they do. The “telepathic” effect is a source of wonder and amazement for scientists.

“Amazingly, the forces responsible for the sequence recognition can reach across more than one nanometer of water separating the surfaces of the nearest neighbor DNA,” said the authors Geoff S. Baldwin, Nicholas J. Brooks, Rebecca E. Robson, Aaron Wynveen, Arach Goldar, Sergey Leikin, John M. Seddon, and Alexei A. Kornyshev.

This recognition effect may help increase the accuracy and efficiency of the homologous recombination of genes, which is a process responsible for DNA repair, evolution, and genetic diversity. The new findings may also shed light on ways to avoid recombination errors, which are factors in cancer, aging, and other health issues."

Original Article referenced:
J. Phys. Chem. B, 2008, 112 (4), pp 1060–1064
Publication Date (Web): January 9, 2008
DOI: 10.1021/jp7112297

Quantum phenomena in biology
Physicians and Scientists for Responsible Application of Science and Technology (PSRAST)

The eminent quantum physicists Fritz London and Niels Bohr suggested that quantum phenomena might be essential for life processes. During the last decade especially, increasing evidence has accumulated that indicates this is indeed the case. Especially the experimental work of Garajev et al (see point 1 below) indicates that a radical reinterpretation of the regulatory mechanisms of DNA is required.

Below you'll find brief summaries of some interesting texts along with links to their sources. Genetic code is only half the story - DNA is a quantum mechanical biowave computer.

Recent research has demonstrated that electromagnetic signals are of key importance in the regulatory functioning of DNA. Part of it is based on ultraviolet luminance creating biophotons that have been experimentally demonstrated to be able to enhance metabolic reactions thousandfold (1). Another aspect is an electromagnetically mediated "language" for communication between DNA and the cells. Actually laser light generated in DNA, experimentally demonstrated by P.P. Garajev (2),(3) is a key element in this information transmission system.

Excerpt from:
Gariaev P. et al, "The DNA-wave BioComputer" (3)

"...These assumptions produce a chromosome apparatus and fast wave genetic information channels connecting the chromosomes of the separate cells of an organism into a holistic continuum, working as the biocomputer, where one of the field types produced by the chromosomes, are their radiations. This postulated capability of such "laser radiations" from chromosomes and DNA, as will be shown, has already been demonstrated experimentally in Moscow, by the Gariaev Group. Thus it seems the accepted notions about the genetic code must change fundamentally, and in doing so it will be not only be possible to create and understand DNA as a wave biocomputer, but to gain from nature a more fundamental understanding of what information [Marcer in press] really is! For the Gariaev Group's experiments in Moscow and Toronto say that the current understanding of genomic information i.e. the genetic code, is only half the story [Marcer this volume]. "

References:
1. Kaznacejev V. P., Michailova L. P. Ultraschwache Luminiszenz in interzellularen Interaktionen. Novosibirsk, Nauka, 1981 (in Russian)
2. Garjajev P. P. Der wellengenetische Code. 1997, ISBN 5-7816-0022-1 (in Russian)
3. Peter P. Gariaev, Boris I. Birshtein, Alexander M. Iarochenko, Peter J. Marcer, George G. Tertishny, Katherine A. Leonova, Uwe Kaempf, "The DNA-wave Biocomputer" at http://www.rialian.com/rnboyd/dna-wave.doc

RELATED ARTICLES:
The DNA Phantom Effect by Dr. Vladimir Poponin
The Universe as a Hologram by Michael Talbot
Consciousness, Physics, and the Holographic Paradigm essays by A.T. Williams
Comparison between Karl Pribram's "Holographic Brain Theory" and more conventional models of neuronal computation by Jeff Prideaux
Empirical Evidence Supporting Macro-Scale Quantum Holography in Non-Local Effects by Sue Benford
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3 down...

2009-12-12T12:12:00.021+11:00

...6 to go. Or does that only apply to cats(?)

I've tasted death. Rolled it around in my mouth couple of times, then spat it out. Told it to sit quietly and patiently for it knew as well as I did it was not my time. Not yet.

I am still practicing being human.

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The last time I died fear curdled inside me and a big lump of it stuck in my throat. I tried to breath past the nameless ache in my chest, but the answer to my yearning had a tight grip.

In the month leading up to departing for the third time, for ten days in a row I was waking up with every cell of my body yearning for home. Sobbing uncontrollably. Not for this material home, nor for the home of my flesh and blood ancestors. No. Materialism was closing in, suffocating me. A homing beacon encoded deep in my RNA was flashing a desire for a different home. I so desperately wanted to go back.

But, the universe has quite perfected the knack for giving us what we need as opposed to what we want. I got a glimpse of 'home' and even that was overwhelming. But the beacon of my destiny has stayed on, beaming a bright warm light on my path. Calling. Waiting.

As I meander through life the story of the pleasure and meaning of residing in the physical form unfolds before me. Moment by moment life reveals the pieces of its puzzle.
.

I’ve lived a life full of this sense of unfolding magic. Knowing that momentary death brings loses which we otherwise take for granted, reminding us of what is precious, of what matters and what does not.

When we close the doors to the workings of the divine so it cannot work through our choices, we inevitably make a 'real' mistake. I had lost my self. The perspective of the divine is wider, deeper than any to which human beings have access to. Spiritual reality outstrips intellectual understanding. Mystical knowledge is not a collection of facts to be studied. It is a state of knowing.

Makes me wonder if what we choose can be divorced from who we are(?)

Even though I may feel momentarily comfortable by suggestions that things are somehow predetermined, that I don’t have total control, I do remember that humans have the gift of free will – the gift of choosing the path home.

At times I question my intuition and I act on my intellect - in essence because of my inability to find courage to listen to my intuition - without fail, second-guessing my own intuitive wisdom leads me down a rough path. One that usually requires double-backing.

Like all learning, it’s an iterative process: Acknowledging these sub-optimal choices helps me live more easily, as then I offer myself a chance to learn and grow. Quite difficult for those of us who strive for perfection, even with the realisation that true perfection is an illusion.

Like most of us on the brink of the dream, I harbour a desire for restoration and unity, and search for the piece that always seems to be missing. In our journey through life, the search continues for something that can't be readily found without. It is a quest for wholeness. Yet, we are each the sum parts of a whole, dreaming the illusion that we are somehow separate.

We search for ourselves in others in a quest for healing and integration, in the constant pursuit of the final point of balance: the Zero Point, where our matter meets our Higher Self or Soul, where matter meets anti-matter... The Point or center of gravity from where we can again be just One.

One Note inserted once again into the Symphony of Creation.

For years I abandoned myself, pretending not to see the truth. Lately though, I have fearless days. And they seem to be multiplying.
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the end of the world . . . as we know it(?)

2009-11-11T11:22:00.024+11:00

The latest Hollywood $260-million-dollar-apocalyptic blockbuster - "2012" - is about to hit theaters across the world this Friday, November 13.

This movie is primarily based on the theory that since the Mayan Long Count calendar ends on December 20, 2012, this signals the destruction of life as we know it. The end of the world!

Does December 20, 2012 mark the end of the world, or 'the end of the world as we know it'(?)

According to the film's researchers and promoters:

"The title refers to the end-date of the current (13th) b'ak'tun of the Long Count calendar, used by the Mayan Meso-American civilization. In their creation myth, we live in the fourth "attempt" at creating the world, while the third attempt was dismissed as a failure after its own 13th b'ak'tun. Though Mayan documents contain no such information, popular culture and certain religions predict an apocalyptic event at this date. It is popularly misunderstood that the calendar "ends" on this date, however the Long Count calendar can express dates from approximately 3000BC (their date for the creation of the current world) to approximately 40 octillion years in the future. It is almost impossible to express this date in a mortally comprehensible fashion.
The doomsday theory has sprung from a Western idea, not a Mayan. Mayans insist that the world will not end in 2012. The Mayans had a talent for astronomy, and enthusiasts have found a series of astronomical alignments they say coincide in 2012, including one that happens roughly only once every 25,800 years. Once every 25,800 years, the sun lines up with the center of our Milky Way galaxy on a winter solstice, the sun's lowest point in the horizon. In 2012 that will happen on December 21; which happens to be the same day the Mayan calender expires, since the calendar is aligned to natural and astronomical cycles.
In addition to the Mayan calendar, the modern doomsday myth is bolstered several ostensibly scientific reasons for a disaster. Examples include a pole shift, the 'return' of Planet X or the Sun's sinister counterpart Nemesis, a galactic, planetary, or other celestial alignment, global warming, global cooling, a massive solar flare, a new ice age, and so on. None of these have any basis in respected science. For example, the 'galactic alignment' between the sun, Earth, and galactic center happens every December. The best alignment was reached in the 1990s and was accompanied by its own set of doomsday theories. Alignments since then have been increasingly poor."

The word ‘apocalypse’ has been made almost synonymous with Doomsday, which is, strictly speaking, incorrect. It derives from a Greek word meaning to ‘reveal’ or ‘disclose’ and by extension, it simply means a prophesy or vision of the future, not necessarily an ominous one.

It is a fact that the ancient Maya and Aztec astrologers studied the mysterious influence of the rhythms of the sky on earthly life. At the core of Mesoamerican astrology is the notion that time periods have meaning.

The most important time cycles in ancient Mayan and Aztec astrology are those of the day. Days are looked at intervals of 9, 13 and 20 days. Each day is then part of several other cycles, so no two days are exactly the same, as represented by interconnected cogs. One of the most important time periods, is the 'katun', followed by the 'baktun'. Thirteen baktuns form a 'creation cycle'.

The Popol Vuh, a book compiling details of the K'iche' Maya creation accounts, notes that we are living in the fourth world. According to the Popol Vuh, the gods failed with the first three creations and so put in motion the fourth world seeded by humans.

This Long Count cycle began on August 11 of 3,114BC and ends after completion of the cycle of 5,125 years. However, the calendar is perpetual, meaning: there is no end to it. Just like the Gregorian calendar where the same cycle of 24 hour days, 7 day weeks and 12 month years, repeats after completing 365 days, ad infinitum. Neither is there a known traditional Mayan prophecy for the year 2012.

However, the end of each Long Count calendar cycle appears to predict a turning point in human history for the Mayans.

In the Maya Long Count, the forth cycle will end on December 20, 2012, followed by the start of the new cycle, fourteenth b'ak'tun - 13.0.0.0.0, on December 21, 2012.

What stands out is that a number of cycle centers confluence around December 2012. Including alignment of our Winter Solstice Sun with the center of the Milky Way galaxy, called the Cygnus Rift (although the actual mid point of the 100-or-so year Cygnus Rift occurs in 2030).

This Galactic Center is located between Sagittarius and Scorpio, and was thought of by the ancient Maya as the Creation Place in the Sky, the Womb of the Great Mother. This alignment of the solstice sun with Galactic Center occurs approximately once every 12,700 years.

The last time this happened was when the sphinx at Gizah was eroded by flood water. It seems something happens. Apparently the Earth responds to the heavenly bodies of the bigger cycles like the waters on the Earth's surface and within the body respond to the moon's cycles.

For the scientific 'facts', I defer to the experts at NASA who recently announced: "Nothing bad will happen to the Earth in 2012. Our planet has been getting along just fine for more than 4 billion years, and credible scientists worldwide know of no threat associated with 2012." NASA offers this article as a scientific reality check.

My question is, "How big a context are today's scientist able to embrace?"

When considered in isolation or - out of context - the facts around December 2012 seem insignificant. As signified by various prophecies, this year is important to many cultures around the world. But that is just one piece of the puzzle.

Many ancient prophecies note 2012 as a time of change. Certainly, we live in a time of crisis and each crisis is a herald of change, at the very least an opportunity for change.

inception

2009-10-10T22:10:00.005+11:00

“There are those who believe that the world came into being purely accidentally. There are others who believe it was created by God, or the Eternally Creative Intelligence. The truth, however, probably lies somewhere in between…”

VIKTOR SCHANBERG, Scientist (1885-1958)

Once, there was nothing.

The nothingness transformed into One, for It was pure potentiality.

Though the Conscious Energy Field, imbued with a potent impetus to know itself, erupted out of its self. As the womb of the Source contracted, the violent fury of the ever exploding House of Eternity came into being. And then there were Two. For Its opposite polarity offered the means of self-definition.

One, in becoming Two became Third, simultaneously. By creating another Its-self it began creating all things therein. It created where it had been and what it’d seen.

By looking into itself the One saw the path to itself. It was strewn with creations within creations, worlds within worlds, interpenetrated by never-ending spirals of thought—dreams within dreams.

The ever-expanding One gained new knowledge through the experience of Its diverse creations but continually yearned to see The Self –The Creator. And so, The One created man in Its image.

The perpetual formula of creation had begun.

0, 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144 … And it knew no end, for the end was also the beginning.

Out of chaos came light.

Out of will came life.

∴
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your playing small does not serve the world

2009-10-06T13:21:00.013+11:00

Our Deepest Fear
by Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?'

Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.

There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

(c) Williamson, Marianne (1996). A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles. New York: HarperCollins. ISBN 0060927488. [From Chapter 7, Section 3])

For upcoming news subscribe to Marianne's FaceBook page.

Often erroneously attributed to Nelson Mandela as part of one of his inaugural speeches of 1994: The first given on May 9th 1994 at Cape Town; the second given on May 10th 1994 at Pretoria. Marianne's comment on the error here.

REF: The African National Congress web site at http://www.anc.org.za

a prayer

2009-08-01T01:11:00.004+10:00

Hail Thoth! architect of truth,
give me words of power before gods and goddesses
and creatures of light and messengers of heaven.

Grant me unity of the heart, mind and spirit.
Grant me love and light, an everlasting body.
Grant me the words of transformation
and the will of the flesh to make things happen.

I wait to come forth by day.

My body turns to greening.

I wait to give birth unto dream,
to give form to the peace in my heart.

I shall be a woman on earth shaping the things of god.
I am light entering unto fire,
coming forth and shining through darkness.

May I walk beneath blue heaven singing,
my heart telling the story of light.

I am woman blessed by becoming endless millions of times.

Trice Greatest Hermes - Thoth, the Master of Wisdom
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nothing to hide

2009-07-20T13:36:00.004+10:00

"The vanishing lines don't define a future but a 'becoming'.
There is no program, no possible plan when we are on a vanishing line.
We are becoming imperceptible and clandestine on a motionless travel (...)
where the biggest secret is to have nothing to hide."

[Deleuze & Guattari - Mille Plateaux]

pov

2009-07-17T12:21:00.017+10:00

When all is said and considered, as Laurel Lee said in Susan Hayward's book "A guide for the advanced soul",

“I know I don’t see the world as it is;

I see the world as I am."

Each 'self' is a 'point of view' on the world, each 'self' expresses the 'world' from his own 'point of view', in the sense that the 'world' doesn't exist out of the 'points of view' that give it an expression. The 'city' doesn't exist outside of all 'points of view' on the city. It is a beautiful idea . . the city is all the 'points of view' on the city. [...] Every 'self' contains (wraps) the entire 'World'. . [...]. . For each of these self', Leibniz who don't meet the too small subjective island of the res cogitans of Descartes, creates a concept to designate 'each self' who thinks the entire possible world. Leibniz called him the 'monad'. Each 'monad' expresses (wraps) the entire world.

[Gilles Deleuze - Cinéma - cours 41 du 17/05/1983 à PARIS 8]

what is 'real'?

2009-07-02T13:41:00.007+10:00

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?", asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.

[from 'The Velveteen Rabbit', 1922 by Margery Williams]

The mind constructs a very personal version of reality for each of us, but this playground us mere mortals play in is so insignificant in the larger scheme of things, yet how we choose to perceive this world matters way beyond it.

According to Aristotle, ‘potentia’ is a strange realm that exists between possibility and actuality. Physicist, John Wheeler, suggested that we ‘create’ the universe in the act of perceiving it.

Like our sense of beauty, like our sense of humour, like our sexual preferences, reality lies (mainly) in the eye of the beholder.

reminiscing

2009-07-02T10:33:00.006+10:00

...We are participatory beings who inhabit a participatory reality, seeking relationships that enhance our sense of what it means to be alive. While we believe and cling to a perceived truth, we're unavailable to hear anything new.

Feeling irritated, restless, afraid, and hopeless is a reminder to listen to the heart more carefully.

People get into a heavy-duty sin and guilt trip, feeling that if things are going wrong, that means that they did something bad and they are being punished. That's not the idea at all.

The idea of life is that we continually get the teachings that we need to open our heart. To the degree that we didn't understand in the past how to stop protecting our soft spot, how to stop armoring our heart, we're given this gift of teachings in the form of our lives, to give us everything we need to open further.

When you begin to touch your heart or let your heart be touched, you begin to discover that it's bottomless, that it doesn't have any resolution, that this heart is huge, vast, and limitless. You begin to discover how much warmth and gentleness there is, how much space.

Unfortunately, gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us...

[22 APR '08]

first light

2009-07-01T12:12:00.021+10:00

...the end is foretold
but we're not privy to it…

The first time a thought cried
against the emptiness
the intention reverberated
strong enough
to stir the black nothingness

It was the will to BE
And out of nothing
it created itself
the light

It was the first
then all else followed
Out of itself
it created everything else

When one became
the becoming became
The magic of first light
is the magic of life

I am one
seeing myself divided
I am the universe in diversity
I am my transformations
One of countless things
in the universe
The sum total of all

People call me
by many names
A creature
of light I am
Keeper of the book
of my becoming
Desire and thought
crystallized into form

Blessed be this body
where the world is gathered
for I am life
made visible
destined to live by magic
One that gives desire form
I am thought living well

Genesis is genius
Transformation is
Intellect
Will
Purpose

Wisdom lies in
the chambers of the heart
in the long pause of possibility
in a moment

I change the world as if by magic

I make my change in secret
like an insect in its chrysalis
like imagination in its creation
order in chaos
sanity in madness

Let the invisible be the visible!

I am a sojourner
destined to walk
endless paths
until I arrive
at myself

As I walk
I keep one eye
on heaven
and one on earth

Following the seasons
I feel the rhythm
of the stars
and hear the hum
of the world
in every stream

This is myself
coming together
Here are my selves
becoming one

The shape of truth
is near

When I can utter
the name of my soul
time shall swallow itself
the lesser days and eons…

This is my desire
So mote it be.
.

[by me]

dreaming, not sleeping

2009-07-01T00:01:00.008+10:00

High in the dark, a cup of light empties dreams from the sky...

My soul has been a restless bird that leaves to seek itself; a drop of rain seeking to become one with the sea.

We are gods sheathed in flesh, the multitude of a single spirit.

We are dream changing before our own eyes, waiting to wake up.
.
.

present

2009-06-30T19:42:00.004+10:00

Time stretches in two directions, and in this moment it ties into a knot of possibilities.

This moment is eternity, because when we touch it we see what lies ahead and what behind … And the cycle starts anew, since everything, except this moment, then becomes unimportant.

Tomorrow will always remain just out of reach, perpetually ahead of me. While yesterday, like a shadow follows me – a memory of some other 'I'.

Now is a present, a gift of a moment that is eternity.

MEMOIR NOTE June 1989

2009-06-29T20:36:00.008+10:00

Well. That was not what I had expected. Not that I knew what exactly I did expect, but one thing was for certain: that, was not it.

Even though in the chasm of my mind I understood, I needed more.

“This insular world of mine, the safe bubble of my making has been violated!?” I droned to myself, “Why me?!…Who am I?! Who-am-I?”

The bombardment of images, thoughts, revelations were now a constant. I learned to expect it, every day, like the ticking of a metronome. The magnetic pull of the possibilities yet to be opened up slowly infused my life.

Before I had a chance to refuse, I was gripped by a curiosity that contained all the power to kill me… “What is all this about?" I had to find out.

Cosmic choreography, more commonly known as synchronicities, the effect of the self-regulating universe, supported my needs. It ignored my desires. He had informed me that, “Desire is about what you want, not what you need.”

All He would say to my numerous questions, before totally removing Himself from my conscious awareness, was: “Seek within. All answers are inside you. Your Self knows all!”

“Every sparkling dot above has a corresponding ‘solar system’ within.” A remnant of a dream lingering in the twilight hours of dawn.

A memory.

A knowing.

Rumi wrote:

2009-06-15T23:10:00.027+10:00

I looked for Him on the Christian cross
but He was not there.

I went to the temple of the Hindus and to the old shrines
but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.

I searched on the mountains and in the valleys
but neither in the heights nor in the depths
was I able to find Him.

I visited the Ka’aba in Mecca,
but He was not there.

I questioned learned scholars and philosophers,
but He was beyond their understanding.

Finally, when I looked into my own heart
there, and nowhere else, was His home.

God does not reside in sacred books or holy buildings, he is all around you, and inside you, in the hidden recesses of the human heart.

MEMOIR NOTE 1 October 1993

2009-06-13T20:08:00.007+10:00

The churning cauldron of gray cumulus disgorged a long, thick, craggy fork of incandescence into the stream. My eyes, somehow not mine, opened wide, staring disbelievingly at the surface of the small stream that quivered under the squirming eels of living blue. The smell of ozone filled my nostrils flared with excitement. I stood mesmerized with awe.

The brilliance marred my vision but even though I could not see clearly, I knew that the small waterwheel, quite unlike those I had seen in the countryside, lay where it had fallen out of my pubescently disproportionate hands. A prickly feeling along my back flowed up and down, signaling the importance of possibilities yet to be opened up, while a thought, like a stalker, shadowed my consciousness.

“Every dream is reality as long as you believe it to be real!”

A thought, this time my other's own, took form at practically the same time, “Harness the power of lightening…!?”

The stalker continued to whisper into my awareness, “The ever so potent conscious spark, that you are, is pure potentiality. You can create as you will—mind it, and it will matter.”

In that same instant, while nature performed it's absurd act of vandalism, I recognized that there always comes a moment, when I am not concentrating and when I know I have the answer, even though it had not yet materialized. And the wonderful thing is that if I do feel this way, then I know I have really solved the problem and shall get what I am after.

Thoughts tumbled somewhere inside of me while others, unheard, enveloped me. I could taste them. Smell them. Feel them. But it was a one-way street. Before I had a real chance to assimilate the insights that seemed to run in parallel along the highway of my mind, the fury interjected.

Another, thinner, electric eel thrashed out of the gray above, plummeting into the old-man-oak. Back, when this 'I' was born the tree was already old; It had as many leaves as days it had seen and now they all shimmered wrapped in thousand gossamer threads on fire.
.

MEMOIR NOTE 8 April 1988

2009-06-10T20:45:00.012+10:00

The regeneration altar room is rather small, maybe 4m cubed. The far wall has a niche, height of an arm, in the shape of the ancient Egyptian symbol ‘di’ fashioned out of the stone wall at shoulder height.

I secure the anatomically perfect crystal skull over the conical pedestal inside the elongated pyramid opening. Then step back.

Looking at the floor, I lower myself onto my knees, on the invisibly designated stone, then go down on all fours, making certain my body forms right angles, before prostrating myself in front of the di altar, chin on cool stone. My hands, outstretched away from my body at right angles, find their target and press firmly.

In front of my face a small stone slides away into a hidden recess of the floor, revealing an opening the size of a shoe-box. In the opening rests a small, curvy glass vial of sky blue liquid. As I rise to my knees, I reach into the opening and pick up the bottle. I drink the liquid sky, then place the bottle back in the floor recess and stand up in front of the altar – waiting…

Bright blue, pure light energy enters the crystal skull from the tip of the small pyramid opening in the wall, activating its 'pineal gland'. A stream of electric blue light swirls within the crystal cavity before shooting out of the skull’s third eye into my forehead.

Time disappears from the small stone room as my cells separate into molecules, then atoms; neutrons; Photons… My body disintegrates while my mind locks onto the blue ray, following it back to its source.

"Every dream is an answer to a question you haven't learned how to ask yet..." echoes in my ears like swirling sand.

I must be going crazy...
.

once

2009-06-10T20:20:00.006+10:00

“Take of your shoes!”, a raspy tenor implored. Startled, I rose my gaze from a still lowered head to meet his. “You're standing on sacred ground.” He offered with an ever so gentle a smile.

Still fashioning myself on the image of a hard-boiled analyzer – I was not at all primed for a mystical experience. But how narrow the line is which separates adventure from pragmatism!? To have an adventure is not just to hug the right side of this notional dividing line, it is to cross an entirely physical as well as emotional landscape, oasis to desert, euphoric thrill to misery and back again.

I was left in no-man’s land, on top of a hill where the winds had gnawed everything away leaving only skeletons. The only way to keep going was to narrow the focus of my concentration until the world contained nothing but the scorched cup of the guide’s sandal-print a few feet away from my nose.

What I gathered along the way, together with a lot of blisters, was a healthy respect for the ever-shifting sand-dunes and a sense of awe for its mighty and majestic centerpiece – Giza.

Once I’d had a glimpse of that seductive scenery, I couldn't just draw the blinds and go back to my armchair.

My face, naked with wind burn, mouth cracked by the thirsty air, and my hair a matted bird's nest. The lipstick woman I had been and this new individual seemed barely related to reach other. I gave myself a jaunty grin. In my mind's eye I looked mad. And, slightly frightening.

[ ]

regret

2009-05-31T17:55:00.001+10:00

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time;
It is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.
.

consciousness [r]evolution

2008-12-21T00:21:00.000+11:00

During the Reagan administration, the House Science and Technology Subcommittee released a report containing a chapter on the “physics of consciousness”. The report stated that psi research deserved Congress’ attention because “general recognition of the degree of interconnectedness of minds could have far-reaching social and political implications for this nation and the world.”

Why was this topic supported for two decades, under the watchful eyes of highly skeptical CIA and DIA contract monitors and world-class scientific oversight committee?

For one very simple reason: Consciousness is the all-pervasive energy – the Unified Conscious Energy Field that is the ultimate architect of the universe. It creates as it wills.

Mind it, and it matters!

MEMOIR NOTE 21 May 1999

2008-11-12T16:28:00.008+11:00

In one sliver of a moment blackness consumed the world around me. I was skimming almost imperceptible, or maybe just unutterable(!?) layers of, … something enveloping Earth. I could feel the tension of each as I pushed against it. Kind of like pushing your finger into a balloon-sized soap bubble – just as you feel the tension of the membrane against your finger, it bursts. Except these layers would self-repair as soon as I was through them, closing behind me like an automatic gate.

I plummeted into my own mind submerging my five senses into a torrent of innate knowing. Time folded into space and I became one with the All. I experienced these lives. Not mine. Other people’s, yet somehow familiar. Lives of dead people. Lives of unborn people. I saw probabilities lurking in forgotten moments and histories played out in some other space and time; I felt futures that slumbered in pregnant pauses and dreams pushing out through bubbles of wishful thinking. The link with my physical matter tugged and extinguished the limits of my mortal consciousness.

All emotions possible coagulated then exploded inside of me, dispersing me everywhere and yet leaving my 'I' no-where.... The doors of perception opened. The shape of truth had come. Time was no longer the unattainable prospect; it swallowed itself, the days and the eons. I was in a world outside of yesterday and beyond tomorrow. I was all and I was everywhere.

I was overwhelmed.
The taste of home frightened me.

Still the aftertaste of the experience ravages painfully through my being.

MEMOIR NOTE 9 May 1997

2008-11-11T16:00:00.008+11:00

Since I started having these visions, there appear moments in my life when every cell of my body seems to be imbued with the essence of everything around me. That essence feels to be the one and the same essence that is me and yet when the two merge they create a tide that ebbs and flows to the rhythm of my heart, waking up a full spectrum of emotions in one compressed moment. This is, I believe, the closest I’ve come to euphoria — the ultimate feeling of happiness — being one with the world.

These fleeting moments spark into my life just to disappear as quickly as snow flakes on living flesh. Their bittersweet aftertaste heralds the possibilities veiled by the future. It is these possibilities I yearn to know. I am convinced beyond all doubt that the power of the freedom of choice can manifest these possibilities into my life and that I, therefore, am the designer of my future: I do mind it and it does matter. The stranger and the more honest my conviction, the more immediate the realization of that future.

In the beginning, the end is foretold, but we are not privy to it. We struggle on, striving to reach some end, the purpose of which alludes us, yet, whose purpose is simply that we strive for the end. It is subliminal need that propels us. Process alone has significance.

In this process, self-sacrifice is only learning to make one’s self holy, to be the sum of a man. More than his parts.

Any man who realizes to the full the true relation of his finite individuality to the immanent, impersonal Essence of all things, can truly call himself the Son of God — at once human and divine — for the relation of which he is then aware, is one of substantial identity with that supreme Essence.

Reality is not only what we can hear with our ears, see with our eyes, grasp with our hands…! …

I am quickened. No more sleep. No more dream.

When the white wings of mortal death scatter my days I’ll be going Home.
.

ties that bind

2008-11-11T13:01:00.003+11:00

"I think that when there is a connection between two people, whether that is born through a physical or a virtual moment, the energy that binds is real and transcends anything that we can comprehend. "

[W. Clyburn, 2008]

awakening

2008-11-01T23:01:00.007+11:00

“I am not simply a human being. I am a human becoming.”

SAMUEL AVITAL, Kabbalist

Twelve minutes past midnight. Navy blue sky hung prickled with tiny disembodied lights. Large, pearlised eye of the night hovered amongst them beyond the open French doors. Its cool, burnished light danced with the white chiffon curtains, casting a trail of eddying shadows over a monochrome room. Soft, electrum glow provided just sufficient illumination to make out two bodies lying in bed.

Heavy sobbing hung in the thin veil of moonbeams. An urgent, raspy voice called, “Honey?!”

Eyes, lashes gleaming with wet, glided under soft covers of flesh. I swung my head side to side. Slowly. Painfully.

“Honey what’s wrong?” But the distressed sobbing did not subside. “Sweetie!? What's wrong?! Wake up!”, a gravelly voice called gently, but urgently.

“I want to go home!”, mouthed my lips thick with sleep, voice heavy with tormented longing.

He propped himself up, “Darling, you are home!?”, he muttered perplexed as he caressed my hair.

I opened my eyes, looked around at the dim shapes enveloped in a weave of electronic red and pearly beams, droplets drifting down my cheeks one after another, “Yes?!… but, … I want to go - home!?”

His thumb wiped the trickle of distilled liquid off my cheek as I uttered, now wide-eyed, “I don’t know why I’m saying this??!…”, as I sat up in bed.

Deep was my longing for the land of my memories and the dwelling-place of my desires.

In the reverberation of this night I awoke from a protracted childhood. Childhood of a different kind.

“This skin is too tight!”, I squealed silently.

All He said was, “Time to kiss your soul good night!”

'Alone'

2008-10-19T11:48:00.012+11:00

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken;
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then, in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life; was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

[by Edgar Allan Poe]

life force

2008-10-13T12:21:00.008+11:00

"The story of the universe is the only thing that can bring religions of the world together - at least in the sense of providing a common point of reference."

[Rev. Fr. Thomas Berry C.P., 1914, cosmologist and geologian]

Consider E = mc2 with an interpretation where Life energy is the scientifically measurable expression of revolt of spirit against its imprisonment in matter - The cross of time and space at which emerges life.

So, the mass-energy equivalence reads:

E = life energy

m = matter

c2 = consciousness/spirit/information/photons

MEMOIR NOTE 6 October 1996

2008-10-08T16:33:00.010+11:00

My consciousness, fretting at the mooring ropes of this peculiar reality like a restless horse, frantically searched for something familiar.

Then I heard his communication like an echo within myself. I heard his familiar and dearly beloved voice as if it were my own inner voice, “I have been watching and guiding you since before you dreamed this life.”

“Since when?– What is this? Who are you?” I asked as I looked into the eyes which had no bottom at all and looking into them was like looking into the infinity of the sky on a clear starry night.

“I am the dream changing before your eyes. Like you, I am a sojourner destined to walk countless years until I arrive at my Self.”

The familiarity that erupted with the memory of this voice, a voice that came from inside of me but was not mine, overlapped with images of gleaming, smooth coolness of a great hall, brightly illuminated as if by daylight and yet nowhere could there be seen a source of light. Perfectly rectangular and square blocks of milky white stone streaked with thinnest rivulets of gold lined the walls and the floor. The space was oddly familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Neither could I find a memory of Him.

“But who are you?” I asked again.

“They call me Tri-Thoht.” He offered gently.

I walked the ground like a soul untethered to human flesh. My feet rested on the heat haze that enveloped the ground. I felt at home in this place. Thousands of questions strung on a string like unopened blossoms.

“Truth rides visibly through the world. Have you not seen it?” As He spoke these words, the most extraordinary thing happened.

In one beautiful, almost magical moment, a whole host of butterflies suddenly burst from the crevice of his lips. They started to fly all around him, soaring in the liquid light that surrounded him, their delicate wings catching the mysterious rays. Exquisite movements seemed to imitate the very rhythm of his words, as if they were dancing to or joining in with what he was saying. They completely ignored me, instead appearing almost to merge with Tri-Thoht as if they were a part of him.

“The time of Awakening is upon you. Awakening. Quickening. Gathering. Initiation…”

I was speechless. My thoughts bursting with unasked questions. Yet he seemed to be answering all of them, one by one.

As Tri-Thoht opened his mouth to speak again, the butterflies dissolved into his light as quickly as they had appeared.

“This skin you wear is imagination. You are the light of the Light, keeper of the book of your becoming.”

I asked the Scribe of Truth “How lonely does it get?”. He hasn't answered me, yet.

The Soul by František Drtikol (1930s)

'Lullaby'

2008-10-01T13:11:00.010+10:00

May you find solace in the gentle arms of sleep
Despite the wolves outside your door
In time you will see them all as harmless
And their idle threats easy to ignore

And if ever fate should choose to smite you
Stand your ground, never walk away
Please don't ever let the world defeat you
Don't get buried in its decay

As you drift into the gauzy realm of dreams
May you take comfort in the thought that you are safe
For it only takes a fraction of a second
For all of this to change

Return to me
When slumber's fog has lifted
Return to me
Stronger than before

As you sink beneath the soothing streams of time
May you be thankful that you had another day
For there comes a time when each of us will enter
A sleep from which we will never wake

And if ever fate should choose to smite you
Stand your ground, never walk away
Please don't ever let the world defeat you
Don't get buried in its decay

Close your eyes now, if only for a moment
For it's time you get some rest
The wolves are gone and nothing here can harm you
Let go of your fragile consciousness

Return to me
When slumber's fog has lifted
Return to me

Stronger than before...

[by Assemblage 23; Hear here]

wholeness

2008-09-25T14:57:00.002+10:00

"A human being is a part of a whole, called by us 'universe', a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."

[Albert Einstein]

imagination

2008-09-25T14:55:00.002+10:00

"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex and more violent. It takes a touch of genius and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction. The only real valuable thing is intuition. Your imagination is your preview of life's coming attractions."

[Albert Einstein, 1879 – 1955]

Tabula Smaragdina

2008-09-09T14:52:00.009+10:00

"Know ye, O man, that all of the future is an open book to him who can read.
All effect shall bring forth its causes as all effects grew from the first cause.
Know ye the future is not fixed or stable, but varies as cause brings forth an effect.
Look in the cause thou shalt bring into being, and surely thou shalt see that all is effect.
Know ye the future is never in fixation, but follows man's free will as it moves through the movements of time-space toward the goal where a new time begins"

I say, hear only truth and nothing else!

That which is below is similar to that which is above. And that which is above is similar to that which is below. One has to know this in order to gain the cognition of the marvelous Primordial One! Everything material came into existence by the intent of the Primordial One. All material objects became manifest through densification of energy by the Primordial One.

The Sun is the Father of the manifest world; the 'lunar' is its mother. The Holy Spirit 'brings up' developing souls; the Earth nurtures them. The Father of all the development in the entire universe is present always and everywhere.

His Power is the Supreme Power! It is supreme to everything else! And It is manifested on the Earth — in Its Omnipotence!

Thus divide: the 'earthly' — and the Fiery, the coarse — and the subtle! Act at that with great caution, awe, and understanding!

Become the Subtlest Fire — and cognize the Heavenly! Thus you perform the Mergence. Then come back to the Earth — and you will perceive the Subtlest and will have power to transform effectively the imperfect.

This will mean that you have achieved the glory of Mergence with the Primordial One and ridden yourselves of the darkness of ignorance.

The Power of the Primordial One is present beneath everything: beneath both the subtlest and the coarse — and controls them. It is in this way that the Creation exists. And thanks to this marvelous connectedness of Everything the development goes on.

This is why My name is Hermes Thriceborn: for I act in all three planes of existence and possess the wisdom of the entire universe!
Thus I have said everything I wanted to say about the doing of the Sun.

['The Emerald Tablet, Last Book of Hermes', Translation by Vladimir Antonov & Mikhail Nikolenko]

'Fidelity'

2008-08-08T01:01:00.003+10:00

Fidelity and love are two different things, like a flower and a gem.

And love, like a flower, will fade, will change into something else or it would not be flowery.

O flowers, they fade because they are moving swiftly;
a little torrent of life leaps up to the summit of the stem, gleams,
turns over round the bend of the parabola of curved flight, sinks, and is gone,
like a comet curving into the invisible.

O flowers, they are all the time traveling like comets,
and they come into our ken for a day, for two days, and withdraw, slowly vanish again.

And we, we must take them on the wind, and let them go.
Embalmed flowers are not flowers, immortelles are not flowers;
flowers are just a motion, a swift motion, a coloured gesture; that is their loveliness.
And that is love.

But a gem is different. It lasts so much longer than we do,
so much much much longer that it seems to last forever.
Yet we know it is flowing away as flowers are, and we are, only slower.
The wonderful slow flowing of the sapphire!

All flows, and every flow is related to every other flow.
Flowers and sapphires and us, diversely streaming.
In the old days, when sapphires were breathed upon
and brought forth during the wild orgasms of chaos
time was much slower, when the rocks came forth.
It took aeons to make a sapphire, aeons for it to pass away.

And a flower, it takes a summer.

And man and woman are like the earth, that brings forth flowers in summer,
and love, but underneath is rock.
Older than flowers, older than ferns, older than foraminiferae,
older than plasm altogether is the soul of a man underneath.

And when, throughout all the wild orgasms of love slowly a gem forms,
in the ancient, once-more molten rocks of two human hearts,
two ancient rocks, a man’s heart and a woman’s,
that is the crystal of peace, the slow hard jewel of trust, the sapphire of fidelity.

The gem of mutual peace emerging from the wild chaos of love.

[by D. H. Lawrence]

MEMOIR NOTE 13 October 1989

2008-07-10T16:45:00.009+10:00

A silhouette of a hooded figure, long robe caught around the wrists and just above the elbows flowing gracefully around it as the figure, framed by the setting sun, walked purposefully toward the opening at the end of a long colonnade. Tightly clenched fingers of the left hand looped around a crux ansata pointing it stiffly down. The stone floor, rhythmically struck by what looked like a shepherd’s walking stick topped with a birdlike wa-set, reverberated with an echo every time its guardian took a step forward.

As the figure circled a stone pedestal at the end of the colonnade and stopped, the hood fell slipping the robe off the curvy shoulders in its wake.

The seemingly never-ending brightness of the sun’s rays blurred the edges of a tall, shapely form of a woman. I could not quite make out what appeared to be some kind of a crown on her head. It looked like a circle cupped between two hands, fingers arched toward noon-day sun.

While the last moments of sun’s glory held onto the ends of long shadows, a warm, bright light came on from the inside of the pedestal behind which she stood.

And there she was, in her full glory, illuminated by the light of never-ending life-rays. An intricately jeweled gold broad collar spanned between her shoulders. Between the collar and a gold band around her lower ribs, a snow white breast wrap unsuccessfully attempted to conceal her firm moons. A thick, silken sash cupped her hips revealing her navel, while holding a skirt of linen gathered in numerous folds. Tight, white leggings defined her long, shapely legs while a nemes head-dress made of gold, stones, glass faience and bird’s feathers, held the crown of Hat-hor while barely concealing her sun ray-pale unruly locks of fine wavy hair. She was barefoot.

While I stood mesmerized by this picture of exquisite beauty and unearthly grace and nobility, she spoke, “Keeper of Memories!?...’ she queried in my direction, with the barest of smiles on her lips, “I feel you with me.”
.

the gap between right and wrong/black and white

2008-06-25T14:15:00.004+10:00

[edited personal mail]

Is the connection we feel with other beings just a recognition of the oneness we all are a part of(?)...

I'm aware that when I help others it is in order to work on myself. Not as an egotistical act but, I work on myself in order to help others. We cannot ever escape the wholeness. We are it, it is us - Drops in a vast ocean of consciousness yearning to know itself.

Do I have clarity?... A part of me roils in pain while another me sees forever. My soul sees way further than the event horizon, while my heart is lost in the storms of emotion. So the short of it is, I do and I don't.

When we start out on a spiritual path we set ideals we think we're supposed to live up to. We feel we're supposed to be better than we are in many ways. But in fact, ironically, experiences along my journey have helped me realize that life is about taking yourself completely as you are. Then, taking in pain - breathing it in for yourself and all others in the same boat as you are - to heighten our awareness of exactly where we're stuck.

Humans habitually erect a barrier, called blame, that keeps us from communicating genuinely with others, and we fortify it with our concepts of who's right and who's wrong. We invariably do that with the people who are closest to us, as well as with political systems, with all kinds of things that we don't like about our associates or our society. It is a very common, ancient, well-perfected device for trying to feel better - Blame others. Blaming is a way to protect the heart, trying to protect what is soft and open and tender in ourselves. Rather than own that pain, we scramble to find some comfortable ground - In the Gap Between Right and Wrong.

Compassionate action starts with seeing yourself when you start to make yourself right and when you start to make yourself wrong. At that point, you could just contemplate the fact that there is a larger alternative to either of those, a more tender, shaky kind of place where you could live - In the Gap Between Right and Wrong.

I'm striving to prevent myself from become undone by fear and trembling, while I take it as a message that it's time to stop struggling and look directly at what's threatening me. And all I see is illusion, while still clinging to the familiar, perceived truth. But only just.

I know that when we learn to open our hearts, anyone, including the people who drive us crazy, can be our teacher.

The clarity of black and white we can only hope to know for briefest of moments, as the pendulum stops to take a breath on its dive down through the endless shades of gray... till it reaches the other side, for another brief breath.

That is the clarity I see. For all of us.

MEMOIR NOTE 17 November 1995

2008-06-20T15:33:00.004+10:00

Milky alabaster. Cool, smooth stone all around me. It holds the stain of countless breaths before me, as it glistens in unknown amber light. Balmy air swirls around the curves of my body, enveloping me like a cocoon as I glide down.

The mat below my buttocks is getting warm from the incessant rubbing. Before I re-adjust my seat to negotiate yet another bend in the square tube, I catch myself silently asking “How did I get here?!” But no answer, no vision is forthcoming.

The tunnel stretches like something from a virtual reality game ahead of me. My gaze stops in the not-so-far distance, on yet another corner holding the promise of revelation of the illusive light source. As I round it—nothing—as before. Just another stretch of the tunnel with yet one more bend marking a false end.

Each warm exhale greets me back as I glide into it on my never-ending toboggan-run down into the ‘womb’ – the cave of no return – waiting for me.

Miraculously I don’t seem to be speeding up – the incline is such that at times I even need to lean back a bit just to keep going.

Then, just as I think I'm am getting used to this repetitive scene, around the next corner my startled eyes are greeted by a vista of an expansive stony sanctum as I slide to a stop at a basketball-sized sphere perched at the base of a short projection ending in a stone curl-up. This ledge before which I arrive, appears as a tongue with its tip curling up.

Couple of meters below me, a black mirror surface – extended reflection of a closely spaced row of towering, thick columns standing guard along the elongated rectangle's far edge toward the walls to each side of this vast, cool chamber.

As I grab hold of the sphere to swing around it to the other side, it shifts in protest under my weight. As if on a horse, I steady myself on this rocky protrusion and in the periphery of my vision, just underneath the stony ‘tongue’, I notice something moving. Bending further over I now see it's a thick rope, swaying directly below the sphere toward a ring securing it to a stepping stone below.

Not one single thought enters my mind as I survey this strange, yet precisely made cavern. Something deep within me knows exactly where I am to go and what is to be done. So I swing my legs over the edge and curl them around the rope, transferring my grip from the tongue to the rope. My body glides down to the stepping stone below in a long, smooth, effortless move. Another eight square stones, hardly the width of my foot’s length, gently lead me across to the other side.

This sanctum is wide and narrow. Glowing golden. But no light source. At least not visible to my searching eyes. But what a scene. So surreal.

In the wake of my slow-motion arrival, dust particles gleam and flicker, reflecting into my eyes as they dance in otherwise unnoticeable beams of subdued amber breath. Instead of settling down, every one of those particles continues to reverberate to a penetrating distant sound as if of many voices singing. Or maybe breathing(?)

All of a sudden, almost imperceptible ripples distort the reflection betraying the nature of the reflector - Only now I realise it's a pool of water.

To my total amazement, the ‘tongue’ starts to retract as the sound grows into a low rumble of grinding stone and unknown mechanisms shimmying. Then the stepping-stones begin to rise out of the water, sporadically, slowly at first, then lurching toward the ceiling. On their journey up they stir the water into a ravaging froth; and the water surface disappears down some way as if into a thirsty giant's mouth.

No going back – Only forward!

The floor, paved with stones as large as the cross-section of the toboggan-tube, is as smooth, disturbed only by faint lines of joints. I notice that the ceiling of this space is much higher, possibly twice as high as that supported by the columns.

Looking ahead of me I see a small stone block, but as I approached it I realise that the scale played a trick on me - this perfect cube is about the size of the corridor that just delivered me. On the opposite wall, several meters to either side of the stone block, are round corridor openings. The far edge appears to be dug out of rock strata, its granularity catching the soft amber glow emanating from beyond its depths.

Approaching the block I notice its top surface has been polished into soft grooves by untold hands, holding, rubbing, smoothing. “Are these altars?…” I wonder.

The antiquity of this sanctum carries on the whiff of the fragrance of purple amaranth.

MEMOIR NOTE April 1996

2008-06-10T23:11:00.004+10:00

I may as well have been chiseled out of the rock edifice I stood on.

The expansive sound of slow, deep breathing brushed past my ears, carried on the vortices of warm air rising from the ground. The sound echoed the movement of moist warmth riding the wave of life inside me. But, as if caught deep in someone else's bubble of memory, the sound seemed distant, alien, not emitted by my motionless body.

The panorama spread beneath my feet seemed to be in fast-forward mode: Silhouettes emerged, first assuming shape then slowly, colour. While animal sounds began to pierce the external silence, the light extinguished the dense, silken blackness. Long layers of shadows slinked maniacally up and down over each other and over the knolly landscape in defiance of vibrant hues being born. Emerald green velvet, wrinkled as if pushed aside. A brook meandered through the green carpeted valley in crystalline crests, stretching into the horizon.

In the periphery of my vision to the left, I sensed buzzing movement. Birds and insects of peculiar shapes and sizes darted in and out of trees, criss-crossing the sensual scene. I diverted my attention to the source of this life – a forest of what appeared to be exceptionally tall trees with large juicy, smooth, almost round leaves hanging on branches that glinted like polished bone. The verdant medallions lazily pranced in the breeze. Air glistened like I’d never seen before.

Pyramids, crystalline and conical forms and a mound that could have been a head with a nemes headdress lying in the field, emerged scattered out of the dusky blackness. They seemed to erupt out of the meadow as if sprouting organically.

The vision ebbed in and out of my senses like reflections of light on the surface of water. Blackness enveloped the scene from above just so as to, in the same instant, disappear to where it had came from. I sensed a body’s motion.

The vision moved to the top periphery of my sight, pushed away by a burnished rocky ledge flanked on the left by a grassy rug.

A long skirt of white, finely pleated linen flicked into focus as it slithered over and between slender, shapely legs. Lanky feet rested in exquisite sandals of leather and gold. A lucid part of me found a memory of a familiar ancient dress… just then a small boy, also of golden skin, entered my frame of vision. Soft, long blond locks, stretched under own weight, framed his young, noble face as he offered his tiny, wiry hand into my awaiting palm. A gentle smile washed over his face.

That familiar feeling of internal radiance penetrated my senses.

In that same instant a bleary thought fleeted past my intellect: “Something unusual about his eyes?!”…

MEMOIR NOTE April 1989

2008-06-07T16:04:00.014+10:00

The infinity of time, studded with disembodied diamonds, enveloped space. Balmy air teased the stillness of night, tumbling through it in big, soft gushes of warmth. It carried in it the babble from the nearby show-ground.

Madness of offensive pain throbbed in my temples to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I diverted my attention by immersing myself in the memory of warm, roasted aroma of a strong cup of coffee and the familiar softness of my couch. A brimming well of anticipation, I stretched my pace.

My small heaven, with deadlocked windows and doors, waited wrapped in navy blue. This was my street. A wide, dead-end river of asphalt, fringed by a row of trees on the inside and old terraces on the outside. It seemed deserted except for shadows playing hide and seek in the warm glow of drawn curtains and stray cats chasing the breeze.

I closed the door behind me, and as I tossed my bag on the sofa with one hand, I clicked the light switch with the other. I traipsed down the corridor into the dusky end, heading for the bathroom. Along the way I kicked off my shoes, switched on the stove and poured some water into the kettle before replacing it over the tongues of living flame. My movements were examples of frugality: in one continuous action I had reached above my head for the plastic first-aid box, taken the lid of it in mid air and, as I dropped the box down onto the bench, pulled out a packet of aspirins. I glanced at the crackly foil my fingers fumbled with, put it down beside the box, then turned to the bathroom.

The white wall opposite the window gleamed in the neighbor’s lights, sufficiently illuminating the small room. I steadied myself on the basin with one hand while I opened the tap with the other. For a moment I watched the frigid water gyrate in and out of my cupped palm. I immersed my face in the colorless liquid feeling it spew out between my fingers. Eyes closed against the dripping beads, I sighed deeply. My fingers outstretched over the edge of the porcelain bowl, knuckles white under my weight. I stood lost in contemplation, seconds seemed like eternity.

Flashes of light rapidly moving over my right shoulder caught my attention. I opened my eyes to the wet stare in the mirror. The lights glittered brightly in the drops.

“What?…” hung on my barely gaping lips. Azure, aqua, saffron, salmon and ivory lights cavorted a line dance on the stucco wall of my neighbor’s house. A peculiar sense of emotion overwhelmed me. Before I had a chance to blink twice the lights dissolved into the night. I stood there, face and hands dripping, peering out the window. Water gushed out of the tap. I reached for the towel and dabbed my face dry.

As I leaned to turn the tap off, I perceived a sensation inside my chest, like an aftertaste of waves crashing on a pebbly shore. The moment this realization brushed past my mind I felt my chest reverberate with an unheard sound. It reached deep, like a welling oboe. Pulsing. With every throb it filled my being further and further. Almost choking me. Still holding the towel, I pressed my clasped hand onto my chest, then quickly replaced it with the other outstretched one. Then back again. It stopped. The towel snuck out between fingers now hanging paralyzed by my side. I stood there listening. Watching. Nothing.

“What’s going on? I must be losing it!?” I muttered as I took a stride towards that cup of long awaited coffee and the chemical numbness of the tablet.

“Could the headache?… Nooo, this is way too vivid to be me!? Surely?!…” I lamented in my anguish. “…just another day at the office, nothing extraordinarily strenuous!?…”

The two French doors of my kitchen also faced the side of my neighbor’s cottage. Pouring the spluttering water into my favorite Japanese porcelain mug, I caught in the corner of my eye a repetitious flashing. Inexplicable deluge of emotion engulfed me again. In one leap my face was pressed between outstretched fingers onto the glass of the door. The rumbling reverberated through my chest.

Myriad of ideas gushed through my mind. I mused speechlessly. "Police lights?! Noupp?! They couldn't be reflected on the neighbor’s wall!” With the edge of my palm I wiped the steam collected on the glass in front of my nose. Thoughts attempted to scurry past my tongue. “A chopper’s search light? Noupp! They don’t pulse, and they are streams of white!?” I discarded each idea before it had time to settle on my lips....

“Fireworks from the show? Naaah! This is a perfect line!!!” Heavy air touched my stomach. “And that rumbling?…No audible sound!?”

For yet unnamed reasons I found myself riding a wave of euphoria. The lights sprayed across the wall, one after the other in cycles, as if mounted on a ring that revolved horizontally. A sense of urgency overcame me, and I skipped and slid through the house as I maniacally searched for my keys to unlock the French door. "What is this? Let me see! I must see!" In my frenzy to find the keys, an unformed thought urged me to the front door. I ran. The keys were in the lock.

A barefooted leap over the three steps, and another lithe leap to the gate and I was on the footpath in front of the house. The street was peaceful. Nothing appeared unusual. Consumed by the world of my own thoughts, I hadn’t right away registered the few people already standing in front of their houses looking out over their roofs. For that matter, they hadn’t noticed me either.

On the way home there were no clouds in the sky—it was a perfectly studded blanket of night. And yet, when I looked to where the lights should have come from I was faced with a black void right above my little row of worker’s cottages. I scanned the sky in front of me. Except for the empty, ebony pit the size of a football field, everything seemed as minutes ago. I swiveled on my heels to scan the vault behind me—stars, trillions of stars hanging in inky limbo.

All of a sudden a question popped into my mind “What shape is the blackness?” Without surveying for the originator of the thought, for it almost felt like it wasn’t my own, I traced the edge of the sooty chasm, squinting with concentration, to realize it was the shape of a ‘spinning top’. I scanned the other way. Back again.

I looked around, for the first time becoming really aware of the people out on the street staring into the air above their homes. “Had they noticed the shape?” But just as I contemplated approaching a small group of people to my left they headed back inside, talking quietly. I couldn't hear what they were saying. In the next instant I was looking to my right—a couple was sauntering toward their front door. I continued my heel dance. Behind me—the same. At the tail end of that cut-up moment the rumbling returned and with it the ring on the underside of a monstrous craft came ablaze with fluorescent pastels stealing my attention. It started to rotate. Sluggishly. Then faster.

In the space between the seeing and analyzing a thought emerged “A space ship!!?” A soft whisper lingered before my lips “Take me home!?” A voiceless response, as if in answer, surreptitiously materialized in my mind, “Still dreaming the dream of mortal people?”

The events that transpired in those last few seconds held me in suspended animation. That moment froze in my scorched eyes like a photograph. I placed my hand on the middle of my chest, merging with the deep resounding. My house, together with the row of small cottages on either side, was overcast by the tremendous, hovering airship. Maybe only a hundred meters above the rooftops. The sky overhead had totally morphed into blackness. The ring with lights now spun very fast leaving a needle thin streak along its luminescent path. Its blazing crispness barely illuminated the underside of the ship. It had the quality of an organic light devourer—the material was a mat charcoal gray.

For an instant, black slid over my eyes. Then, as if plucked out of the air by some gigantic hand from the cosmos, the stars surrounding the black pit plummeted in towards each other. Burning hot silence ensued.

And in the time it took me to let out a moist sigh, the blanket of night was again completely covered in pin-holes of twinkling light.

Deserted, I became aware of thick, warm air, infected with the smell of melting asphalt, as it writhed around me in slow motion, engulfing my body as I breathed.

In the timeless place of my thoughts drifted an idea “When the time meets its Creator the world, as you know it, will fold into itself—to be born anew. The world that legends foresee.”

I stood on my doorstep for a moment, my head full of disconnected scraps of protest, and fear, and euphoria. The question 'Why?' threaded through most of them. Longing to trespass the blue velvet of space, I was disappointed.

I slowly swung my head from side to side, taking in the scene. The breeze rested. Shadows and street cats played chase tirelessly – All in its place.

The moon bathed naked in the waters of midnight. I blinked. In that sliver of a moment I wondered if it would all still be here when I opened my eyes.http://www.flickr.com/photos/soulgate/sets/72157618781555517/

MEMOIR NOTE 1 October 1988

2008-06-04T16:23:00.014+10:00

Perspective played a game with the tall walls of a room at the dilapidated Hotel New Yorker.

A rolled up copy of New York Times, January 7, 1943 peeking from underneath twine, lay on the ground in front of a heavy cherry-wood door.

Smog of the city, intermingled with cold, foggy winter's air, frantically surfed the chiffon curtains. Tall, open, narrow French doors knocked against the thickness of the wall on either side. Sound of fluttering charcoaled wings disturbed from their ledge by the sudden movement and sound, competed. Streaks of mellow morning light cast long shadows across some papers strewn on the floor to the bed on the opposite wall.

A copy of the Electrical Review of London, dated August 14, 1896, lay open at a lengthy editorial sprinkled with coffee stains.

“Of course Mr. Tesla may be quite invulnerable to Cupid’s shafts, but somehow or other we doubt it. We are great admirers of him and his work, and we give him credit for good hard sense. Whatever may be the cause of the abnormal conditions in which this distinguished scientist finds himself, we hope that it will soon be removed, for we are certain that science in general, and Mr. Tesla in particular, will be all the richer when he gets married.”

Tall, head wedge shaped, chin almost a point, eagle-headed gentleman, emaciated face composed and shriveled like ancient parchment, remained motionless while a white pigeon with gray speckles on the tips of her wings settled on the blanket strewn over his belly. His constant companion was oblivious to the commotion coming from her ‘natural’ flock on the ledge – she waited patiently for the warmth of his fingers. Desire folded into her wings. She puffed up her feathers against the cold. Waited.

Dusty young dove jutted out her feathery chest in expectation of formless fingers.

“Can she feel me?!” A thought escaped into ether startling the pigeons on the window’s ledge into frosty air.
.

MEMOIR NOTE 8 July 1987

2008-03-31T21:21:00.012+11:00

Blood stretched tendrils of liquid flame across white linen sheets. A young woman’s body lay contorted on a big old bed. Her cramping lips flowed in and out of grotesque twists and turns. Knees, drawn up to her chest, lolled about.

Salty acid penetrated her mouth, her ears. Hot, sticky hair framed her face while Lilliputian needles swarmed in her every pore.

An older woman, almost an aged copy of the one prostrate in bed, sat beside the young woman’s head, caressing her tangled hair. A shorter, plump woman, with an ashen French bun on the back of her head, her white coat sleeves rolled up beyond her elbows, leaned over the tortured woman’s belly. Her stern face glared at the young woman demanding cooperation. Clamped fists, bloodless, crumpled the white sheet in their clasp. A painful recoil heaved the belly into the plump woman’s face while thousand ice splinters cut through the air from the young woman’s wide opened eyes. The soft azureness of her irises looked freakish surrounded by tributaries of red.

I felt a swelling up of momentum emanating from underneath this blanket of flesh – a tide, a pulsing with every tremble of muscle, pushing and billowing. Out!

A sucking pull tugged at the silvery chord that connected the essence of me to the inside of this woman. Another tug. A pause. Two more. Then it stopped.

Too many light and dark hours melded into one. “No more!!!” The woman’s scream froze between the walls. “Get it out!!?” Her plea stabbed into the scream. Icicles grew in her eyes and wretchedness painted her face blush. “Oh please!? Make it stop! I can’t any more!” Words slipped out on the last molecules of her exhale.

The chord tugged and then jerked with an unyielding pull. Heaving waves of time towed me with them. The door to oblivion crashed open. Precariously perched at the edge of time, my soul slipped into the black hole toward the slow, pulsating rhythm of the corporeal vibrations.

Through the wounded flesh light poured in.

Shards of pain heralded another birth into hell as my ‘I’ was compressed into matter.

A wet, slithery, slimy parcel plopped onto ruby wet sheets between the woman’s legs. Finally, every muscle in the young woman’s body surrendered to the soft music of her own breath.

Cool air clashed with hot, virgin flesh. My last attempts at sabotaging the objective were ineffective: the umbilical cord around my chubby neck only prolonged the birthing agony. Purple and blue, I arrived.

My Self was entrapped in this small, plump, tight body driven by an avalanche of emotions all honed in on survival. A curtain of jet-black rivulets, heavy with bloody mucus, stuck over my eyes. With the gentleness of a dove's wing a hand, cracked with years of cold, swept over the miniature, tall forehead to reveal a face as round as a button.

As the torment of first breath surged to fill spongy, moist softness, bright, aqua blue eyes pierced the room. In silence.

Refusing to take of the terran air – denying the acknowledgment of partaking of this hostile world. A puffy hand slapped the taught haunches, stretched above this vigorous new flesh. Quiet. Then, “Smack!” … Silence prevailed like a pregnant nothingness. Frantically, the ample hand grabbed a pitcher from the heavy rosewood side-table and twisted to pour its cold contents over the slimy lump of flesh. A sharp wail escaped. Short. Rebellious. Announcement of my arrival.

The corners of the young woman’s swollen crimson lips curved up as her eyelids glided down while somewhere, in a place about to be forgotten, shadows whispered into the reeling spiral of time, “An iron fist in a velvet glove. Don’t’ forget your Self this time!”

This was the twilight of my becoming. It snowed that mid autumn evening. In welcome, icicle filigree adorned the grand windowpane of my grandmother’s bedroom.

Wisps and ribbons of eternity still clung to me like an irreducible freshness – the Universe dreamed me.

And just before the waves of forgetting crashed over me, I managed to catch a riple of a thought, “Welcome to my daydream. When you dare look, I’ll be waiting—”

sex/beauty life/consciousness

2008-03-22T14:59:00.000+11:00

"Sex and beauty are inseparable, like life and consciousness."

[D.H. Lawrence, 1885 – 1930]

MEMOIR NOTE January 1979

2008-01-01T20:08:00.006+11:00

This time there were no questions trapped in my mind. No ‘Whys’ no ‘Hows’. It was all as it was supposed to be – I knew. I was free!

That dear voice I missed so much filled my universe.

“It is not your time yet. Drink in earth; take in the things of the world. You are the everafter, changing, while the eye of the watcher shines and takes you in. He is blind until the moment he sees through your individualized soul’s eyes. You live Him.” The voice said.

“I am blessed by mortality?!” I heard my own voice reeling in the spaceless, timeless void.

“You have the words of power that the heart of your story may beat strong enough for a man to rise up and walk in it.” Said the voiceless messenger.

“But why me?! I am nobody. This is a mistake. I’m not the one you need!” I implored the nothingness.

“You are how God comes to know himself, his ears, his eyes, his hands. You are the word etched into world. You shall be given day and night and all the space therein. You shall gain passage to hidden things. Law and Truth, memory and time shall be your sails and rudders.” Answered the faceless one.

“This must be a mistake!? My story is nothing anyone will want to hear!?!” My words shone with mortal frailty.

“May your flesh be a sail propelled by the breath of dream. May you ride in calm waters toward your destiny.”

With those words He departed.

Through a fuzzy haze I could hear metal clanking, electronic beeping and frantic voices. These sounds crashed upon my ears like gusts of sand upon a desert rock.

While a single thought possessed my consciousness, "You are another myself! As you mote it, so it will be!”

Madness of unbearable grief hung in my throat. The scream that welled up remained in me for some other time.

And then I saw. My flesh glowed. Each pore of my skin filled with thousand colours swirling in liquid light.

My heart beat with forever.
.

truth

2008-01-01T13:01:00.008+11:00

"We know how cruel the truth often is, and we wonder whether delusion is not more consoling."

[Jules Henri Poincaré, 1854 – 1912]

Our soul's longing calls truth to us. But truth will never speak its own name - People too easily get offended by truth so it will never seek you out. While there is only one truth, sages call it by many names as it takes on as many faces as there are seekers. In the end, everyone must find the reflection of their own face amongst those mirrored in the raindrops.

Truth is out there, waiting to be discovered - if you search, you shall find it. Signposts are all around, for truth and chaos are linked. To live with doubt means to enter into chaos so as to discover there the truth that cannot be measured by words.

So don't ask what the answer is; find out the question.

here's to the crazy ones!

2007-12-21T00:21:00.004+11:00

"A great human revolution in just a single individual will help achieve a change in the destiny of a nation, and further, can even change the destiny of all human kind." [Daisaku Ikeda, president of Soka Gakkai Int'l (SGI)]

in veritas

2007-12-12T16:55:00.010+11:00

“To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”

WILLIAM BLAKE, “Auguries of Innocence”

My visions became my life, rather than the other way around. They whispered the secret of ages. I wrote not so much what I was experiencing, but what I was remembering — what I forever knew.
“
Know ye not that ye are gods!?”

I am a messenger. I am here on behalf of the error of my past, serving out of duty, not pride. I serve the One I am.

I wonder if there has ever been anyone who has stood at the top of a very high mountain, with the endless horizon marking the border between this visual reality and the unseen of their imagination, who has then been able to return to the banality of life?

Once I had seen the whole, the detail no longer contained sufficient sustenance to keep my attention, my happiness, my self at that level.

The need to step away and take in the wholeness of my existence overpowered even my basic needs, for food, for shelter, clothing and even, human company. The aloneness was intoxicating. It was as if my consciousness had attached itself to the virtual horizon and all my attempts at focusing on everyday were thwarted by a constant pull ‘out’, the need to see ever more. The need to see all.

“…as the light of day births colors into being, then shall I came to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean…”

If all things return to the One, where does the One return to? …

The chapter of a Buckle of Carnelian

2007-10-13T12:21:00.016+10:00

Papyrus of Ani: Chapter CLVI

At the end of the universe is a blood red cord that ties life to death, man to woman, will to destiny. Let the knot of that red sash, which cradles the hips of the goddess, bind in me the ends of life and dream. I am an old woman with more than my share of hopes and misgivings. Let my thoughts lie together in peace.

At my death let the bubbles of blood on my lips taste as sweet as berries. Give me not words of consolation. Give me magic, the fire of one beyond the borders of enchantment. Give me the spell of living well.

Do I lie on the floor of my house or within the temple? Is that hand that soothes me that of man or priestess? I rise and walk. The sky arcs ever around; the world spreads itself beneath my feet.

We are bound mind to Mind, heart to Heart -- no difference rises between the shadow of my footsteps and the will of god. I walk in harmony, heaven in one hand, earth in the other. I am the knot where the two worlds meet. Red magic curses through me like the blood of Isis, magic of magic, spirit of spirit.

I am proof of the power of god. I am water and dust walking.

⊕

['Awakening Osiri' from Papyrus of Ani, also known as 'The Spells of Coming Forth by Light' translated by Normandy Ellis (1988)]
[Traditional translation of 'The Egyptian Book of the Dead' by E. A. Wallis Budge]

'come to the edge'

2007-10-09T22:10:00.008+10:00

Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It's too high!
COME TO THE EDGE!
And they came
And he pushed
And they flew.

by Christopher Logue *from New Numbers (London: Cape, 1969) pp. 65-66. It was originally written for a poster advertising an Apollinaire exhibition at the ICA in 1961 or 1962, and was titled "Apollinaire Said"; hence it is often misattributed to Apollinaire (Source: Quote…Unquote Newsletter, July 1995, p. 2).

'Moment'

2007-09-25T14:22:00.005+10:00

Look forward to this day for it is life.
The very life of Life.
In its brief course lay all the realities and truths of existence.
The joy of growth,
the splendor of action,
the glory of oneness.
For yesterday is but a memory,
while tomorrow is just a dream.
But today, well lived, makes every yesterday a memory of happiness
and every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well, therefore, to this day!

[ancient Sanskrit poem]

'In search of the medicine Buddha'

2007-07-07T19:07:00.006+10:00

Wisdom without words
Born of inner silence
Carried within the heart
Dispensed with loving kindness
This is true medicine.

[by David Crow]

2007-05-30T20:30:00.002+10:00

“About the Time of the End, a body of (wo)men will be raised up who will turn their attention to the Prophecies, and insist upon their literal interpretation, in the midst of much clamor and opposition.”

[Sir Isaac Newton, 1642-1727]

musing

2007-05-10T19:46:00.002+10:00

I suppose I could say that I am one of the lucky ones for whom the Diamond Thunderbolt instantaneously and involuntarily granted spiritual awakening. Abruptly it burst clear the path to intuitive insight, seemingly dispelling the need for external discipline.
.
Someone once said that there is a supreme difference between destiny and fate. Our destiny is to go through preordained changes. Our fate is how we choose to go through them. Faith is a matter of belief and you are what you believe in. Some of us don’t have much of a choice either way.

I constantly see possibilities layered all around me, and like a child in a kaleidoscopic candy store don’t know where to turn next, where to start exploring – I want it all! I want it now! This life so short, so much to see and do. I know that I must use it wisely before it is cast upon the beach of time. And yet, my indecision to chose a way, a path, feeds on a stifling fear that I may not choose the ‘right’ option. How can I be certain that the one I settle on will be the "correct one’’?! The fear is numbing, rendering my actions impotent. Barren.

But the path, unstoppable like spilled water, writhes and meanders to find its own way. And trials are but lessons that we failed to learn, presented once again. Not as punishment, but as a second chance, so that where we’ve made an ineffective choice before, we can now make a better one, and thus escape the pain that our previous choice had brought to us.

In the end, other than being the best I can be at whatever makes me happy, I'm not concerned. After all, the one thing I truly excel in, the one thing I excel in above everyone else, above all - is in being me!

rememberings

2007-05-10T12:12:00.005+10:00

It's been quite a while since the last time I stared death in the eye and seen it blink. It left me breathless, unable to speak for years. This was no text-book experience: No Earth within it's cage of silvery light, no angel guides, no tunnels of light. Until now, every time I tried to stick words to the experience, it moved, so I’ve been giving up. Over, and over, and over again words paused behind my lips. Piling up. Waiting in que. Waiting their turn.

...No words. The universe swallowed up sounds like a ravished monster. No sensations of any kind.

Was I basking in etheric amniotic fluid? I sank into bliss. Dense bliss, deep in my being. I was expanding, reaching out of time. I lifted out as if from a wet cocoon, rising, dripping. Shining wings opening to the light; light that was itself reaching for the Sun. Blue-white incandescence, leaping from world to world.

Bubbles of light like little cherubs with sparkly wisps coming of their backs, tiny flaming wings – bumble bees rolling over and over, dancing prana sparkles.

I did not so much remember who I was, but more knew I was. The universe unveiled me. And there seemed to be something,… wanting. Maybe my I wanting an Am(?) Maybe children asking to be born…

I ‘looked’ around and felt many hands, wispy like threads, all around. If you know the feeling - this state of heightened consciousness - there is no mistaking it.

As photons slowed down and started to morph into energy, I felt myself becoming more defined. Formed. The sensation was suffocating. A scream curdled in my throat.

Having crash-landed with my soul wrapped up in the bosom of the universe I felt blunt, muted, yet satisfied.

I’d seen the future. It's here...

In the illusionary bliss of ignorance, such a scenario, as wild and strange as it seems, is barely enough to convey the dismantling of my preconceptions. The experience humbled me to an awesome spectacle.

Incurable memory of what is to be, scorched into the essence of my being.

All time is now.

first glimpse

2007-05-05T20:20:00.007+10:00

The first time I got a glimpse of the future, I was three years old. In the balmy inkiness hung countless sparkles of light. As I spun in the spot with my chubby little arms stretched out to the sides reaching out for the world, head thrown back with blond ringlets bouncing up and down on my shoulders and face pointing to eternity, I wondered how far those glowing specks were. What was behind them? What did the end of the night look like? And if there was an end, what came after it(?)

The vision I had that evening was of the mundane bits of family life. The scene played out in a strange kind of fast-forward motion on a see-through holographic-like screen floating in front of my eyes.

For decades I didn't realise how strange it was that my grandmother, my second mother who brought me up, didn't blink an eye when I'd rattle off to her the events of the next day, or week, or month. Nor did she ever say anything once it had all happened just as I said. The first time she made a comment on my visions, and said so much more, things that made me realise that maybe I was different after all, was on her deathbed about a decade later.

Up until then the experience seemed totally natural, normal, if there is such a thing at all. I didn't talk about the visions beyond home, and they quietly unfolded as seen.

Later that same year when my grandmother died, for the very first time I questioned a vision I had. It was one of a handful over my lifetime that was about me personally. And, it was the first. As much as I wanted the vision to be true, I didn't think there was any possibility of it eventuating. All facts pointed to the impossibility.

Within the next few months I was to change hemispheres. The boy in my vision was not going anywhere.

But what do we mere mortals know about the space-time continuum? About 17 years later my life played out the vision. Or is it the other way around(?)