The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the month “October, 2014”

War, Ugh, What Is It Good For?



I was a tool of history. I was a soldier. I followed orders, which I believed to be righteous in their intent. I never doubted that I was on the side of God; that our mission was His.

I killed without ever looking the enemy in the eye. Modern weaponry allows a certain moral remove. Vanquishing those who do not believe as you do becomes purely theoretical. From the air, from afar, one does not feel as if they are extinguishing a human life. Deaths are merely numbers, calculated and displayed on graphs and charts.

Soldiers are not encouraged to think about such philosophical matters; or to consider that the lives taken likely belonged to a father, a son, a husband or lover. Such consideration would render a fighting force impotent.

There is no such thing as a killing machine with morality.

But, then, what is morality? It is so much more complex than the way humans, in their limited understanding, define it. It is easy to say, simply, that killing is always wrong. Or that killing to defend oneself or one’s loved ones is justified. Or that destroying your enemy — an enemy who would destroy your very way of life if given the opportunity —   is a righteous cause. Anyone can find justification for any of these positions, but in the end, these are human justifications.

War is built into the human experience.   It has always existed and always will, despite naïve calls for world peace.   Peace might be achieved in a limited arena for a limited time, but it will always erupt again somewhere else. Always. War is human emotion and relationships, writ large; the personal human condition, played out on a grand scale;

People call for peace and understanding yet cannot even get along with their own neighbors or stand to be within the bosom of their own family.

War and conflict are part of the fabric of worldly existence. It creates  the shadows in the pattern, and it is this darkness which defines the edge of the light.

Pure light is knowable in this realm.

The Reality of False Realities

M.C. Escher: Relativity

M.C. Escher: Relativity

Ipo (again)

All humans are looking for The Truth. They seek one practical unified theory which will miraculously make sense of their lives. They believe that when they find it, they will be happy.

But no such Truth is knowable to living man. He may understand enough to give him peace in his life, but he will not, cannot, know everything.

Imagine the soul as a vast, deep cave, and at the bottom is the Door to the Universe.   Many of the answers to important questions are to be found through that door, but to reach it requires difficult and terrifying navigation, a lifetime of work and complete commitment to the quest.

The main room, itself, is filled with much perceived danger (notice I said perceived because in fact, nothing can hurt you here) and it is with riddled with side shafts leading to other rooms of various sizes.   It is difficult not to become lost in this labyrinth.

These tunnels and hallways lead to rooms of various sizes. Once you find yourself within such a room, your mind perceives what you are experiencing as absolute truth even though this sense of reality is actually illusion.

These are Rooms of False Reality, which are countless in their number.

Some False Realities are shared by millions, all unified by the same delusion. The sense of “living in truth” is reinforced and reflected back by the shared false beliefs of others.

Some False Realities are perceived by only one.   This may take the form of a single delusion, paranoia, insanity, euphoria, monomania, self-aggrandizement, even depression, low self-esteem, self-loathing.

By definition, it is impossible to know when one is inside a Room of False Reality because all experience is perceived as real. The worst kind of trap is one that is not recognized as a trap because one then one remains caught, with no reason to attempt escape. Escape to what? They already believe they are living in reality. From where their perspective, it is other realities which are false. Those so obliviously imprisoned don’t look for an exit. (And there is always an exit. If there is a way in, there is a way out.)

A great general leads legions to death based on his reality. The murderous dictator believes he is the hand of God; that is his reality and he will not be swayed from it. Dogma, too, is False Reality, catching believers in its insidious net. Those who believe they are incapable or unworthy or unlovable cannot conceive of alternate realities, and so remain in their own prison.

Plumbing the depths of one’s own soul is so difficult, only a very few are able to keep to the path. Only those with enough commitment and faith in themselves to give up blindly following the rules or beliefs set out by others, will ever find the Door. The only Truth is found within.

Sometimes, while searching with all good intentions, people simply get lost, and end up in a Room of False Reality. Others, lacking the courage to face the perceived dangers, duck into the first available passage to take cover in the imagined safety and ready answers of a Room of False Reality. Some simply lack the required emotional fortitude for such a journey.

Once a human mind is trapped in a Room of False Reality (which most are), in order to escape, it would first be necessary to recognize that it is perceiving a false reality. This is nearly impossible for the human mind to comprehend. And if one could recognizes a false reality, the moment they did, they would be propelled into a new reality, which is also likely to be false.

But there is always the choice: Do you remain in your current false reality? Or do you continue to seek and question, accepting as a matter of faith, that you have not yet found the Truth, and will likely never know it in your human lifetime?

This paradox is the prison into which humans are born, but without it, there would be no reason for human life.


(There was much more on this subject, channeled over a couple of weeks – and still coming. It’s very complex and honestly, I don’t really understand all of it, myself.   It’s making my head spin! I am going to parse it out because I’m sure readers will need just as much time as I do to digest it.

An aside here: Those who know me personally would agree that I tend to think about things in deep ways and see things from a unique perspective.

My thought processes usually work like this: I am faced with a question/issue/problem/dilemma/situation. I start to mull it over. I try to consider it from as many angles as my mind can embrace.   It begins with the initial question, which leads to HOW and WHY and WHAT IF. If I’m lucky, the answers [at least MY answers] eventually come to me –sometimes in weeks, sometimes not for years, sometimes not for decades. And some answers haven’t come yet.

These conversations with Ipo (or, if you believe I’m making this all up, my own thoughts) are coming to me whole. I did not inquire. I did not ponder a Big Question. In fact, for the most part, these are subjects I have given much thought to – some not ever. And yet answers and solutions and explanations – at least what seem to be answers, solutions and explanations – are filling my head.

To my rational mind, these “truths” do not seem insane or illogical.   If Ipo spoke of a race of Frogmen from the Planet X7hkn who colonized earth 10 million years ago, I would agree I was losing my mind. At least I HOPE I’d still retain enough sanity to agree!

But then, let’s assume that this post DOES contain Truth. Let’s say that most of us CANNOT perceive True Reality. How, then, could we know that we’re not perceiving false reality in believing this post contains The Truth?


Aghghgh! My head is going to explode!)

Laugh, So You Don’t Cry

comedytragedy masks



It’s a good thing parents are biologically programmed to love their children; to believe that even the strangest-looking baby is the most beautiful creature on earth. Otherwise I’m not sure I would have survived. I was not an attractive child. As a toddler, I had the nose of a 90 year old man. People kindly told my parents it was just an awkward phase; surely I’d outgrow it.

Unfortunately, my awkward phase lasted my entire life.

I learned early that being funny was the key to my emotional survival.   It was far better to have people laugh with me at myself, than to laugh at me.   If I made a self-deprecating remark, they were disarmed. If I could laugh with them laughing at me, I was protected from their barbs. If they repeated my observation as an insult, I was able to take it as a compliment. They were using my joke, after all, and that meant they thought I was funny. Or, if they insulted me but not as cleverly as I insulted myself, I won again! Say the worst about yourself and nobody can insult you!

Humor was the path I took to love. There are other paths, but that was mine.   When I made people laugh, they wanted me around. Instead of being ostracized, I was included in their social groups. I was popular, even. Playing the clown was how I negotiated my way through everything. All my life lessons came through this.

I may not have been much to look at, but what did beautiful people offer the world anyway? You have to be a decent human being to be truly beautiful. Still, I was never quite able to let go of the nagging sadness to not have been born lovely. I eventually learned that everyone hurts in their own way. Everyone carries the wounds of childhood well into old age. Maybe forever.

The funniest people (and I have known many) are always outsiders. Sometimes they’re on the outside because of their odd appearance. Or maybe they’re just quirky in some way. Usually, though, they it’s just because their observation post on the world is in an out-of-the-way place where others dare not go. From their unique viewpoint, they see the things in ways that most others cannot.

I’m not saying that it’s only funny people who have unique viewpoints, but if you can make people laugh while they consider your way of seeing things, they are more likely to remember and agree with you and see things as you do. “Speak softly and carry a big shtick.”

The funniest people are also very smart. They can pluck the seed of truth from chaos. They hone in on hypocrisy like heat-seeking missiles. Their lack of respect for authority makes them natural iconoclasts. They are natural empaths, too. They instinctively understand the deepest fears and insecurities of others; they clearly perceive the nature of the ego that drives them.   That’s why comedians make such great actors. They understand the most subtle nuances of emotion, something also absolutely crucial to delivering a good story. Looking at people, they see behind the veil of bluster and into the folds and shadows where self-doubt hides.   Once seen, it cannot be un-seen.

The great funny people are also often the most troubled, the most confused. We all secretly believe we don’t belong. There’s this over-reaching fear that if others saw us as we saw ourselves, they would look at us with the same pity and contempt they regard a sad, desperate, alcoholic clown at a three year old’s birthday party. “Get lost, Bozo! That red nose and big shoes aren’t fooling anyone!”

I developed a thick skin. I took the hits and stood back up again. I had no choice. I won’t say I wasn’t hurt when people said bad things about me – and they did, because I had a sharp tongue. I had no patience for the thin-skinned; for those who could dish it out but couldn’t take it; for those who pointed to the sins of others without considering their own. I pushed the edge, I know. Sometimes I went too far. I often made people cringe. I did try to limit myself to those who I believed could take it. But if they couldn’t? Well, that was their problem, not mine. I wasn’t responsible for the feelings of everyone in the world.  I’d taken my licks and learned my lessons. They had to take and learn theirs.

There were the haters. Lots of them.  I tried to ignore them but when they got under my skin, my salve was to surround myself with people who got me; who could laugh with me at the same stuff; who enjoyed the view from where I stood.   If I could make someone laugh – even one person —   really laugh from the deepest part of themselves; if I could get them to laugh at my truth, I was healed. The rejection of those who didn’t understand me no longer mattered.

To the question of whether a sense of humor is an innate talent or a learned skill, I say it’s a bit of both. Like any talent, most people pursue what they are good at. No normal person pursues a lifetime of failure and humiliation. And the longer you pursue, the better you get. Like an Olympic athlete. It’s natural talent, nurtured. I was the Nadia Comăneci of the Chuckles Olympics.

Being able to laugh at ourselves and at our tragedies takes the sting out of it. It puts things in perspective; helps us wrestle an unruly life back into our control. Laughing files the sharp edges off the pain.


(I know who this is, but we agreed that it would be best if I didn’t say.  😀  Nevertheless, we had a couple of very deep yet funny “conversations.”  I was given some personal messages for others, two of which I was able to deliver. The general message for all is “Be kind to others. Make sure the people you love know it. Do the right thing, follow your conscience, be true to yourself, and if they don’t like you,  f&^% ‘em! That’s their problem!”)

At the Foot of the Pedestal

The Pale Complexion of True Love


At first, she rejected me because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Because I loved her, I generously gave her what I could. Eventually she found value in that. And the more she valued it, the more I gave it to her. The more I gave it to her, the more she loved me. It surprised her, in the end, how much she loved me.

Over the years, thinking back, she would laugh at how naïve and foolish she was to place more value on the things that other men had offered her.

“Imagine my life if I’d married him!” she would say from time to time, when she had news of one of her old boyfriends. There was a very rich young man she had dated for nearly a year. He could have given her any material thing she wanted. One day, she read a story in the paper that he’d been sentenced to prison for corruption.

Another man had been extraordinarily handsome. She described how he’d made her weak with desire.   One afternoon, after we’d been together for many years, she saw him on the street. She was shocked at how unattractive he’d become. Part of that might have been objective truth – she said he’d become fat and older-looking than his years – but I like to think most of that was her own perception. She loved me, and so to her, I was more handsome than anyone. I was always grateful to know that she still felt she’d made the right choice by marrying me.

When we first came into each other’s circle, through friends, she didn’t take me seriously.   I was like an annoying fly, buzzing around her. She paid me little mind.   I asked her out all the time, but she brushed me away and laughed, as if I couldn’t possibly be serious.

I finally caught her in a moment of weakness, or perhaps during a period of sadness and self-doubt. To my complete joy, she agreed to go out with me.

She was everything I was not: confident, popular, smart, beautiful. I wanted to consume her whole, in order to possess these qualities, too. I wanted desperately for her to take me seriously, because that would mean I was worthy of being loved.   I wanted to be the one to make her happy.

I never doubted that I loved her. It was only much later that I understood what I felt in the beginning was not really love.   Love came later, after our relationship found equilibrium.   This is not to say I loved her less, only that finally she loved me as much.

When we began, she held all the emotional power. Over time, we healed each other in equal measure. She could no more live without me than I without her. The reasons we needed each other grew more complex, and those needs were always satisfied.

What would have become of us if I’d been content to just grovel at the foot of the pedestal I’d put her upon? And where would she have been if she’d just accepted my adoration without once breaching her carefully constructed façade?

It was only when we trusted enough to show each other our fragility that we really started to love. Love is achieved only with trust; trust is achieved only by risk.

Sometimes what you think you want is not really what you need.   As happens often with true love, you don’t know what you need until the right person gives it you.


A Selfish Cad




I was not a good person in my lifetime. I cheated and took advantage of people. I always chose was what best for myself and never fully chose for anyone else. Even when I behaved in an apparently magnanimous way, it was only because it furthered my own needs.   This was true even in my marriage, even with my own children.

But these were not my worst sins. The tragedy of my life was that I was completely oblivious to what a selfish, unenlightened human being, in fact, I was.  I never had a moment’s doubt that my behavior wasn’t righteous and justified.   After all, if I didn’t choose in favor of myself, who would? Others could not be trusted to watch out for my best interests.

There is absolute truth in that. It’s an important lesson; something I’d learned before and brought with me to this last life. But that is only half the lesson. Without the corollary, the real lesson has not been learned.

There is no question that the point of life is to learn to love. All goodness and enlightenment of the spirit spring from accepting this as the absolute truth.   All routes to all lessons pass through love – not only by understanding how best to achieve it, but by confronting all the reasons we run from it; and by examining the ways we comfort ourselves when we don’t have it.

But one cannot love if one cannot trust. Those who cannot trust themselves, cannot love themselves. Of all the kinds of human love, self-love is most important. Without self-love, it is impossible to accept love from others. Without this, one cannot love.

The more we truly love and accept ourselves exactly as we are, the more we are able to love and accept others exactly as they are, and thus, the more loveable we become.

Always behave in ways that foster self-respect. Take the high road not for the sake of others, but for your own benefit.  Release anger and forgive. Expect the best of others thus giving them the opportunity to live up to those expectations still recognizing that if they do not, that is their burden to carry. The misdeeds of others taint us and attach to us only when we respond in kind.

I only know this now, too late to have benefitted anyone in my past life. My punishment, if you want to call it that, for being such a shallow, selfish cad, is to know how much I hurt the ones closest to me, and how much better it would have been for all of us, if I’d be able to see then what I see now.




An Oyster, Ostracized

oyster with pearl


The pain of my family haunted me all my life.   My parents and siblings were not particularly evil people, but they were small and callous, jealous and petty, insecure and often mean.  The toxic dynamics in my  childhood shaped me as an adult – my needs, desires, fears, insecurities, my ways of interacting with the world.

When friends or acquaintances make us unhappy,  we are free to sever those ties. Family, for better or worse, is forever.  I withdrew as much as possible from mine, but there were inevitably situations where interaction was unavoidable.  Family is genetically and biologically intertwined.

I dreaded the occasions when I had to spend time with them. I always left their company licking my wounds, feeling once again, like a rejected, unwanted child.

No one in my family understood my choices.  At best, I was tolerated but never embraced. I was unwelcome and unaccepted not because of anything I had done, but simply because of who I was and what I believed. My feelings were never taken seriously. My siblings’ own families later learned to mock and mistreat me the same way.

It wasn’t until much later in my adulthood,  when I met other outsiders like myself, that I eventually found love. Because it had taken me so long to find it, I treasured it.  I savored the feeling of being embraced and accepted for exactly who I was.

Even so,  it took me most of my life to shed the pain of being shut out of my family.  I clung to my anger  because it made my pain righteous.  I refused  to let it go until I had from them an apology; an acknowledgement of wrongdoing.  I wanted them to accept responsibility for the misery they had caused me.

Finally,  I understood I would never have that from any of them.  My only release was in forgiveness.

That was the lesson I was born to learn.

We travel and are reborn, again and again, with the same group of souls. But sharing the same journey does not mean we will receive love or understanding from each other.   Some share our paths specifically to aggrieve us, or for us to aggrieve them.  The same soul may take the form of a different kind of  nemesis in each lifetime.

From irritants, an oyster can make a pearl.

The hardest kind of forgiveness is for those who don’t believe they need to be forgiven.



Who You Callin’ Primitive?


…Continued from Oct 9

[note: When I go into my trance the next night, I look for Ipo again. This time, he shows me around his old forest home. We are sitting on the ground, under some trees, talking. I ask him what his prized possession was.]

That’s easy. My bow. It took me many, many days to make it; to find just the right materials and to shape it just so. It was a very good instrument and others admired the fine workmanship.

“And what is your favorite possession?” he asks in return.

 I couldn’t think of an answer, which I suppose is good. I guess it means I’m not that attached to material things. I thought about it for a long time afterward, and now I would say it’s my collection of journals, dating back to college.

 As we are sitting and talking, I am feeling a bit nervous. As beautiful as it is in this place which feels so alive, I recognize that it is also full of unseen dangers. Ipo reminds me that there is no danger to us here. We are merely astral forms.

With that, Ipo casually and reflexively grabs his slingshot, and in a single motion, loads a stone into it and brings down a snake inches from my head.

 “I thought you said there was no danger!?” I said, frightened and a bit annoyed.

“There isn’t,” he replied.

I just wanted to demonstrate something to you. Even if we were not in our astral bodies, but were in human form, you still would not have been in any danger. I would have seen that snake long before you were even aware of it; and it would have been dead before you’d even registered danger.

Notice, however, that when you realized what had just happened, what close a call you’d just had, you were terrified after the fact. If that had happened in your real life, that fear memory would have remained with you for a long, long time. Perhaps the rest of your life.   Even though the danger was only conceptual.

Now, imagine me as primitive man visiting you in New York. Our situation is reversed. My surroundings are completely unfamiliar and terrifying to me. There are unknown, unseen dangers all around. We are standing on the street corner, waiting to cross. I am about to step into the street without looking or thinking. You, however, are unconsciously aware of the traffic light and the flow of the cars. Before I can step off the curb, you instinctively put your arm out across my chest to prevent me from moving forward. At that very moment, a bus whooshes right past me.

To you, the act of reaching out and stopping me would be pure instinct, honed from your years of living in the city. It is a non-event for you. It’s the kind of thing you would forget almost immediately after it happened. I, on the other hand, would be terrified by what had almost happened to me. And that fear would likely remain with me for a long, long time. Perhaps the rest of my life. Even though the danger was only conceptual.

My point is that all danger is conceptual, and thus, so is fear.

We fear what we believe we cannot control.

But we cannot overcome fear by controlling everything, because that is impossible. If that is the goal, it can never be achieved, and thus fear can never be conquered.

Fear can only be overcome by relinquishing the need to control; by understanding that life is going to unspool in exactly the way it was wound up – by you, when you were here, before you breathed into life.

What do you have to fear? All obstacles have been put in your path by your very self, to help you understand and ascend. Vanquish fear by searching for the lessons in the very situations which you, yourself, have provided to yourself. Use the unknown to learn something new – about yourself, about others, about the universe – and fear evaporates. Accept that it will be as it should be.

People with understanding and faith in this truth are peaceful.

But blind faith can be worse than no faith at all.

You must work, always, for your own enlightenment. You must not accept facile answers. Everything you need to know is within you, if you look deep enough.

And if you go down far enough into your soul, you will find a door. That door opens into the universe.


[There is much more from Ipo. He’s quite the philosophical and chatty fellow! And I’m finding him very interesting.  But in the interest of the blog,  to keep it from becoming too “one note”,  I’ll be posting some narratives by others who’ve come to me during the same period.   I will get back to Ipo’s wisdom and insights soon enough.

I find it difficult to understand his concepts sometimes — it’s a lot to process — so I imagine it would be even more difficult for many readers.  I think we can all use some time to digest.)

If a Tree Falls in the Forest….


[This was channeled over several days.  As  I mentioned in the previous post, I’m learning that I can “call” for an entity with whom I’ve previously communicated, which means I can revisit those I find interesting; hear more details of their story, ask questions if I have them.  I imagine I will be exploring this more as I continue.]

Work is what we do to survive. Everything else is play.

Our jobs change as we go through life. It is a baby’s job to suckle and grow, and learn to walk. As a child, his job is to learn how to function and survive in the world.

A child needs to learn what to drink when he is thirsty and what is good to eat when he is hungry. He must learn what is edible, what will make him sick, and what might kill him. He must learn which creatures are harmless and which can cut a grown man down alive. He needs to learn which insects and reptiles are harmless, which are merely annoying, and which can kill with a bite or a sting.   He needs to learn to always keep an eye out for good, round stones of the right shape and heft for a slingshot. He must learn to climb a tree like a monkey, which is not something so easy to do. He must learn which are the best kind of feathers to fletch an arrow and how to gather what is necessary to make poison for the tip.

Children must be able to survive on their own as early as possible. The sick and infirm are not attended to very much. If a mother were to spend all her time nursing a sick child, she would not have time to hunt for food or do any of the other chores she needs to survive. And then, they would both die. Perhaps her other children, too.

There is no room for the weak.

This is not from lack of compassion. This is a necessity of survival for all.

In my life before this one, I lived as a successful, urban man in a busy city. In that life, I had no peace.  When I read about or heard about so-called primitive tribes, I wrote them off them as some curious vestige of the Stone Age. They had no part in the modern world and so were easily dismissed as unimportant.   If a culture, a society couldn’t keep up with the times, they would perish; become extinct. Pure Darwinism. That’s just the way life goes. Why should I care?

But I can tell you now, from here, that such people are the soul of the human race.   If they die, the human race loses its way to redemption.

Modern man, for all his technology, is completely disconnected from his roots. He doesn’t grow or kill what he eats. He doesn’t tread lightly upon the earth, taking only what he needs and leaving little trace of himself when he is gone.

Unlike the modern man, the “primitive” does not consume more than he gives back. He does not destroy his home but instead lives in symbiosis with it. He is acutely in tune with nature; aware of seasons by the stars in the sky. He tells time by the sun. He trusts his instincts. He can know every corner of a new place by smell. He can walk and make no sound.   He can focus for hours on the smallest task. He feels no outside stress or existential angst. He needs no money. His wealth is in his ability to live in harmony with his environment.

He belongs to a small group of humans who have no choice but to get along with each other. Together, they obey rules of civil conduct and etiquette, assuring smooth relations all around. For the same reason, they are tolerant of differences in each other. They work together as a community, codependent upon each other, like a single living organism. There is no choosing to walk away from this. To abandon your tribe (or be abandoned by it) is to die.

These are all the things which are missing from the lives of modern humans, and which they yearn for.   They feel the pull of it. They know the rightness of it. They try, in their small way, to find it. And yet, they are prisoners of their own technology. It’s too late for them to go back.

If a huge electromagnetic pulse or invasive computer virus wiped out all the trappings of modern life, modern man would be completely helpless. Like a child who has not learned his lessons, he would not survive; that’s how unable he is to live without all his conveniences, which have become necessities.

But those primitive tribes, isolated and living deep in the forests, they would survive as if nothing had happened. They would provide the seeds for a new human race.

That is why they are the soul, the very essence of the human race. They must not be allowed to perish. When they die, humans lose their connection to where they began and who they really are. This connection to our primal childhood must not be severed.

[Before we part, he wants to show me something. In an instant, we are floating down a river in a small boat. The last rays of the sun are passing through the leaves of the high treetops. It’s a spectacular sight!

 I feel he has more to say to me, and I am enjoying his company, but it’s late and I want to sleep.  

…to be continued



Playing Chicken with the Afterlife



…continued from Oct 3 post


The following evening, I went right back into my deep meditative trance (which gets easier to slip into the more I do it) and “called” for the spirit I’d been speaking to the previous night.

I don’t know if it was him playing games,  another entity entirely, another entity using him as a vehicle,  or perhaps my own unconscious,  but instead of seeing anyone who might be Kenneth (or Peter Dinklage), I was flooded with images of demons, devils and wild animals. They were really “in my face” and I sensed they were trying to scare me.

I looked at them directly and said (in my head), “Hey!  I’m not intimidated by anything in real life. I’m certainly not going to be intimidated or frightened by something that’s in my own head! So piss off!”

 It was kind of comical, actually.  There I was, mentally yelling at demons in my head, perfectly, logically, intellectually aware of how insane it was. And yes, I couldn’t say for sure if I was completely imagining them or if they were “really there” in the astral plane.  For certain, I was not dreaming.

 They kept coming for maybe thirty seconds more, but I kept ignoring them and brushing them away,  and eventually they dissipated and left me alone.  This was perfectly in keeping with my personality. I have been known to “go medieval” when someone  purposely tries to intimidate or scare me , as happens from time to time on the subway or the street. Bullies have literally backed away from me, cowering,  as well they should!

 I sensed Kenneth was there, somewhere, even though I couldn’t see him, and I said, “I was really looking forward to hearing more about your life, but not if you’re going to try to f&*@ with my head.”   (I wasn’t about to take flak from what was possibly merely a figment of my own imagination!)

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to get through to me, get past all these tricksters, or if he was in cahoots with them, but I wasn’t willing to stick around to find out.

I moved my focus to other things and soon I was so deep in trance and I felt as if I were flying.

It’s hard to explain what came next.

A colorful, changing fractal design totally filled my vision. But it wasn’t so much what I was seeing as what I was feeling. It was as if I were in an alternate reality; as if I’d somehow transcended my body;  as if my consciousness had escaped the confines of my brain and was spreading out into the universe.  (Sounds so trite, I know!!! But I’m trying to tell is as I experienced it.  Readers can make of the information what they will.)

I cannot imagine that an acid or mushroom trip could be more intense. (I’ve never done either drug.)  And yet, I felt totally safe and in control. I knew I could awaken myself at any time and be perfectly lucid.

Now, I imagine some of you readers will think I’ve gone off the deep end. Maybe this is all too “woo woo” for you. Believe me, it’s even more “woo-woo” to me!   I’ve been struggling with this trajectory, myself, since this whole business started.

This is a very deep rabbit hole I’m heading into. Perhaps, ultimately, it will lead to greater understanding of the universe. Or perhaps I will lose my mind completely. I honestly don’t know,  and I do worry about it.  What if I become confused, and stray from the path to enlightenment and accidentally take some detour to La-La Land? How will I know I’m NOT in the right place?   I’m pretty sure that if  I ever DO find myself in such place,  I will be convinced that I am experiencing reality and have discovered Truth. 

What is insanity anyway?  “Normal” only means your reality jibes with everyone else’s version. But who’s to say that the guy wearing the tin foil hat isn’t perceiving a truer reality (or at least another valid but alternate version of reality) than the rest of us;  a reality to which we are completely oblivious?

Who decides who’s crazy?  Maybe insanity isn’t some kind of absolute mental defect, but rather only an alternate perception of reality which is only considered pathological when it’s completely at odds with the main of society.

In his lifetime, Galileo was regarded as crazy.

So was John Nash (“A Beautiful Mind”)

 And David Koresh (of the Branch Dividians/Waco, TX)

Not to mention Ted Kaczynski   (Unibomber)

They all believed they were totally sane.

I am not one who believes without proof.  So far, I don’t really have any (except the names I received initially — see first posts.)   Kenneth was probably right. Maybe I’m afraid to ask for proof for fear I won’t get it. Or perhaps I’m afraid that I will get it which would draw me deeper into exploration of the rabbit hole.  I (a most level-headed, logical person) worry that I will be regarded as a woo-woo nut job.  For the time, being,  I prefer to stand back a bit and  refrain from committing myself into a new reality.

And yet, I don’t want to stop. It feels good going to that place. It feels right. What I’m seeing explains a lot of things.

I am very much enjoying this process, this listening to and writing the stories.  Even if  it does mean I’m crazy, I am willing to walk that path.

Which reminds me of the old joke:

A man says to a psychiatrist, “Doc, my wife is crazy. She thinks she’s a chicken.”

The shrink says, “Bring her to me. I can cure her.”

The man says, “I would… but we need the eggs.”

These stories are the eggs.  I’m the chicken.  Cluck, cluck.



  “Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.”                                                     -Rumi      


Note:  I am in my meditation trance and the first strong image that comes into my head is that of Peter Dinklage, the actor.   I think “aloud”, as if speaking to whatever entity is showing himself to me.   “Peter Dinklage is very much alive so I know you aren’t him.”  I try to push the image aside but he won’t move. He tells me he’s “impersonating” PD to indicate to me that while alive he, too, was a little person.

 Then, he tries to give me all kinds of personal information about himself.  I didn’t want to hear it because I prefer that all narratives be vague enough so that they could be anyone, anywhere.   I believe they have more power that way. But he keeps insisting.

His name was Kenneth B-something and he’d lived in Ohio, and had only just passed on at the age of 58. He tried to tell me more, but I kept “changing the subject.”  

Finally,  he started to get testy and scolded me:  “You don’t want to hear details because you’re afraid that if they don’t check out, your whole ‘talking to the dead’ premise will fall apart, and then what will you have?”

I have to admit, he made an excellent point. Still, it was strange being called out by a dead guy (or possibly just a figment of my own imagination)

 He became very argumentative and irascible, which is unusual. Most of the other “spirits” with whom I’ve communicated, have been, well, quite spiritual!

 I chalked it up to the fact that (according to him) his death was very recent and perhaps he hadn’t had time to process his life yet.   So, I just listened to his story:



I was an accountant. I made a nice living, but I never got married. I never felt the need to find someone to grow old with. I had some serious health issues and I knew I would be lucky if I lived to 60. I’d probably die much younger.  I wanted to really enjoy my life and be free from responsibility during whatever time I had.

You have no idea what it’s like going through life as a dwarf. When you are a member of a persecuted religious or ethnic minority, you may be subjected to a lifetime of prejudice and abuse, but at least your own family is the same as you. And you know that somewhere on the planet there are places where there are others like yourself.

This is not so when you are small. I was the only one in my family to have this condition. I was already in my late teens before I met another little person like myself.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, including my own family, couldn’t seem to stop themselves from regarding me as a child.  They patronized me, often without awareness. A dwarf is an object of ridicule. Strangers – mostly stupid drunken teenagers – would often come up to me and make rude comments, then run away laughing, as if I were not even a human being whose feelings were worthy of respect.

I presented myself to you as Peter Dinklage because I admire him. He has gravitas which is something no other little person I’ve ever known or seen possesses.

Even though I was an excellent accountant and had many clients, there was always a separation between us. I was “other” and “less than” and forever would be. Even within my own family.

As you might imagine, this created a lot of psychological issues for me, including a deep and painful lifelong sense of isolation.

You might think that this would be a good reason for me to get married and have children. In a family of my own creation, I could finally be part of a welcoming group, albeit a small one, who would accept me as myself.   But, as I said, I knew I wouldn’t live to be very old and I didn’t want to burden others with my medical issues.

Also, I never found a woman of my own height with whom I had a strong connection. It’s difficult enough for people of normal height to find someone they can relate to and love.  Imagine how difficult it is when that pool of potential mates is so limited.   And relationships with normal-size women were too problematic in more ways than I can tell you,  not the least of which were those lapses into patronizing behavior.

 [I am shown a little woman in what appears to be a road house type bar.  She is way over-dressed – too much makeup, too many sequins, a lacy petticoat under her skirt,  big hair.  She’s dressed for dancing and looks like a real “party girl.”]

That was my girlfriend. She wasn’t especially smart. Honestly, it was hard to have a real conversation with her, but she was fun and she loved sex and. She was as much as I could handle. Or was willing to handle.  I wasn’t looking for anything deep. I just wanted company sometimes.


Addendum:    At this point, I began to fall asleep. My mind was drifting into dreams (which is very different from meditation.)  I asked him if we could pick up the story the following evening, when I’d be better able to focus. (This is something I’ve just learned how to do – to go back in and meet up with a spirit I’ve communicated with in the past.)

 I was really very interested in hearing more of his story, more of his life and his lessons, more of those issues he talked about,  but I simply couldn’t stay awake anymore.

 The following evening, I went right back into my deep meditative trance (which gets easier to slip into the more I do it) and “called” for him.

…to be continued

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