The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the category “Spirituality”

Stranger in a Strange Land

Originally published November 11, 2014

indiginous

Je

I was born among my people on land we had lived upon since the beginning of time. I was bound to that land through my soul.  I lived many, many lives there.

I knew all the trees by name. The paths through the woods had been worn deeper into the earth by my feet, over thousands of years.

I knew the place in the river where it curves around a sharp bend.  The fish got trapped there.  They were easy to catch. I knew the warrens of the rabbits  — the entrance hidden between the roots of a large tree or under a large, moss-covered rock. I knew where to set my traps. I never went hungry.  I knew every plant, nut and berry and which of them were edible, medicinal, intoxicating.

I knew every landmark; the way the silhouette of the hills cleaved the sky from every angle. I always knew how far I was from home.  I could walk for days and never get lost.

Everything I had ever seen or tasted or touched or heard or smelled had been of that land.   My parents were born there.  My grandparents were both there,  and theirs, and theirs, and theirs.   I was married there.  I had children there.  And everything they had ever seen or tasted or touched or heard or smelled had been of that land.

It was not a paradise.  Life was hard.  But it was our life.  We were characters in the same story as the land.  Inseparable.  Our histories, intertwined. To take one from the other would be to destroy both.

And then, eventually,  the Strangers came.  I was a grown child before I ever saw one with my own eyes.  But slowly,  like stalking a deer,  they drew closer in increments so small we barely noticed.

Soon there were borders which were not allowed to cross; where we were not allowed to hunt.   They would not bother us as long as we stayed on our side.  But they kept pressing forward,  encircling us,  drawing the noose tighter.  We were being strangled but we were too small a group to put up much of a fight.

Eventually,   they took us all to a place far, far away. There were many different people there, speaking languages I did not understand.  It seemed there were many who did not understand each other.

I did not understand this land.  It was dry and dusty.  There were no forests.  There were no streams or rivers anywhere.  There were no hills.   Just ugly, flat, colorless dust for as far as my eyes could see. I hated it instantly.  I was resentful and angry.  I had been forcibly removed from my past.  I no longer felt whole. I knew as long as I lived there I never would.

Some tried to live outside our forced settlement,  but it was nearly impossible to survive.  It was a world so different, so strange from the ones we had known. We had no skills; did not understand their customs or their ways.   At least within the settlement,  we were with others in the same predicament.  For the benefit of all, each People tried to put aside their ancestral differences with others,  so we might all work as one.

The elders knew immediately this would be the end of all of us.  In order to survive, it would be necessary to give up some of our past identity and forge a new identity.   If we were unwilling to do that, if we insisted on clinging to the old ways,  if we wasted our energy to getting back to the old lands which no longer existed as we once knew them, we would have been too divided and too weak to survive in the face of the Strangers.  We needed a single, strong, united voice.

Positions of power went to those from warrior Peoples.  My People were small in number and not known for their bravery against the Strangers. It was natural that we all put our faith in the mightiest warriors of all.

But,  in the end,  none of it did any good. Our weapons and tactics were ultimately useless against them.

The old ways are gone.  Some rituals and stories remain of course, but now, disconnected from the land, they no longer make sense. The food and methods of cooking are lost, because we could not find what we needed in our new land.  We lost our cures, our intoxicants, our aphrodisiacs.

We survived, but we did not thrive.

It had always been the duty of all elders to teach the young ones their People’s history, traditions, language,  culture and skills.   But now,  what did it matter?  Many elders realized this knowledge was not useful for the new world.  We needed to learn a common language so we could communicate with other People.  We needed to learn new skills for new land with new rules. What was the point of passing on valuable information such as the best place in the river to catch fish,  or the best place to set a trap for rabbit,  when that river and that mossy rock were half a continent away? (Nobody knew exactly how far,  but certainly a walk of many moons.)

There was no going back.  The elders were without hope.  Most,  like myself, who remembered the land eventually died lost and heartbroken,  with wounds to our souls that never healed.

The younger ones took to changes more readily,  more willingly.  For them, it was an adventure.  They didn’t have such long memories.

They had fewer psychic wounds but they also grew up without traditions and stories that bound them to their spiritual past, without the reassuring knowledge that they stood upon the land upon which they were born and to which they belonged.

They had no ambition for anything for what could they aspire to?

Some took on the ways of the Strangers.  I did not blame them.  They needed something to fill the huge gaping voids inside themselves.

If the old stories don’t work, find new ones.  So they discovered Jesus. They learned to read and write and count many things.  They learned the ways of the Strangers so they could interact with them and perhaps find some advantage.

But even with this, they were not accepted outside.

And so, all the Peoples are not really People at all anymore. They are the children of People and Strangers. It is impossible to be anything else.   They live in two worlds and will never again be whole.

I am grateful that many still have pride in who they are, in who we were.  It is good to know that the People still endure.

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

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The Reality of False Realities

Originally published Oct 27, 2014
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!)

 

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

A Catalyst for Change

First published Feb 15, 2016

power-to-the-people

Dra

I wasn’t happy to die so young but my death was a catalyst for big changes in social and political strata. I believed in the cause, certainly. I worked towards change.  But while alive, I was a mere cog in the machine, no more useful than anyone else. My voice was not heard above the others; my actions alone brought no more attention to our goals.

But my death!

It was not my intention to be a martyr. I was not that brave. But I also knew that there was not much future for me in the status quo.

When my death was imminent, I welcomed it, knowing it would amplify my voice, give it power which had been lost in the cries and shouts of the movement. I was no longer a cog. My death became evidence of all I’d worked to change. I was more useful as a sacrifice.

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

 

War, Ugh, What Is It Good For?

Originally published October 30, 2014

armytank-watercolor

 To

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. They create  the shadows in the pattern, and it is this darkness which defines the edge of the light.

Pure light is only knowable in this realm.

 

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

A Selfish Cad

First published October 18, 2014

selfish

 

Na

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.

 

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

The Art of Control

First published January  19, 2016

fox.2

 

Wol

I always understood that I was going to have to fight for every advantage, every precious moment of peace, every scrap of comfort. This much was obvious to me, even as a child. Neither my family nor the world was going to give me anything, and so I decided that whatever rules the rest of the world lived by did not apply to me. I never had any fear of or respect for authority. Why should I?   The world only took away; it never gave back.

And so, early on, I learned the art of manipulation. I learned to pit one against the other; while they were arguing, I would move in to steal what was no longer being guarded. I knew how to set others off balance – maybe with a half-truth or perhaps a few well-crafted words to sow the seeds of doubt. Like a hawk, I learned to play with and tire my prey until they lost focus and became confused. And then I would swoop in for the kill.

I was no evil genius. More precisely, I was a feral animal who could sniff out fear and uncertainty, and magnify it,  until I had my opening.

I was very good and very successful at what I did. I gained valuable knowledge about the human heart but at great cost to others. To learn these lessons well, I had to push my hypotheses to the limits. If I hadn’t used my talents to cause a happy couple to divorce or a mother to abandon her child or old friends to turn on each other, how could I examine the edges of human nature? How could I know the breadth of my power?

I held myself apart from other humans, feeling simultaneously superior and inferior. Any relationships I had were superficial, struck only for advantage.   These choices were not a sacrifice.  These lessons greatly advanced my understanding of the world.

 

Note from me:  It seems as if the world is being taken over by these types!

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

An Oyster, Ostracized

originally published oct 15, 2014

(this story seems particularly apt these days,  given how the current political situation has torn families and even marriages asunder.)

oyster with pearl

 Cha

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.

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

 

No Mercy

NEW

Cruelty in perfection (Plate III), William Hogarth, 1751

Ald

I was cruel!  Marvelously, exquisitely, gloriously, unapologetically cruel.  I loved to see that wince of pain in the eye, the tear of defeat rolling down a cheek, a fallen face in the instant of betrayal,  the collapse of posture as the soul shattered within.  These things made me feel powerful, invincible.

When I was about eight or nine, one of my friends had a crush on a girl in our class.  He was too shy to even speak to her, but he would go all-moony eyed whenever she crossed his line of sight.   One day, she glanced in his direction, noticed him staring, and nodded back at him.  He was as ecstatic as a boy of that age could be.

But I could not let this stand. His happiness irritated me.  I could not bear for him to have something which gave him such joy, such hope,  while I had nothing.  So I told him confidentially  that I’d overheard her saying  mean and insulting things about him; that she called him fat and stupid; that she mocked him among her friends.

He had no reason to think I was lying. I was his friend, after all.

He was devastated.

I feigned sympathy for his pain but that lie, that ability to destroy his happiness with just a few well-chosen words,  filled me with a sense of ecstatic power which until that moment,  nothing else ever had.

I did not forget it.  A year or so later, I wrangled up a handful of boys to sneak into the teachers’ ladies’ room.  We hid quietly in one stall,  standing on the toilet seat, and waited for our prey.   One of the younger, newer teachers came in and went into the other stall.  While she was doing her business, we jumped  up and looked over the top.

She cried out then shrank back into herself in abject mortification.  There were tears, I am sure of it.

A couple of the boys felt bad about it afterwards, but I found myself sexually aroused at her vulnerability and humiliation.  It was a fantasy that I replayed in my head many times during my life.

My taste for the pain of others only increased over time.  I became adept at playing a sympathetic character, one who others trusted.  It made the betrayal so much sweeter.

Occasionally, I would arrange things to hurt another incognito, so they had no idea that I was the cause of their disappointment or heartbreak or catastrophe.  Perhaps an anonymous letter to a wife about an errant, or even faithful, husband.  A complaint to a manager about an underling who had not afforded me the proper respect, in order to get them fired.  A nasty rumor planted and nurtured until its tentacles attached themselves to my victim and strangled the ease from their life.

While these acts of cruelty were certainly satisfying, nothing satisfied so much as being face to face when the knife went in.  I loved to seduce a woman, make love to her, and afterwards,  just as she was relaxing in languor, cocooned in a satisfied glow, I would leave her bed with an insult carefully crafted to cut wherever it hurt most, depending upon her particular insecurity.  I might tell her she was too fat, too old,  to stupid, to consider seriously.

I would often contract for services,  allowing my victim to negotiate a very good price for themselves.  I chose people who were somewhat new to their game; too naïve and trusting;  who believed that getting my business would be a turning point for them.  Yes, I was demanding.  I forced them to put aside all their other clients to accommodate me. But they did so happily,   because they believed it was worth all the money I’d pay them in the end;  that this deal was a lucky break that would final help them fulfill their  dreams or climb back into the black.   And then,  in the end,  they would submit their bill – in person — and I would tell them that I was not going to pay.  It wasn’t about the money.  No, my game was seeing that devastation and ineffectual anger.

I took particular pleasure in publicly humiliating of a person of import within my circle. It might be a dirty secret made public.  An insult or epithet spoken loudly enough for others to hear.  The damage was best done when they were in the public eye — perhaps when they were about to receive an honor, or on the cusp of making a great business deal,   or maybe while running for public office.

Nobody was allowed to have joy without my permission,  and I rarely gave it.

My reputation preceded me. I had no true friends, only acquaintances and associates with whom I shared a common and usually temporary goal.  Even my so-called intimate relationships were transactional.

I could be charming when it served my purpose.  But those who knew enough of me, kept their distance, making sure they never exposed their most vulnerable selves to me.

And this is how I lived,  to the end of my days.  Envious of the joy of others; finding my own happiness only in destroying theirs; never learning any other way to soothe or pleasure myself.

 

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

Playing Chicken with the Afterlife

Originally published Oct 6, 2014

eggs

 

…continued from previous post, August 18

 

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.  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. I was absolutely awake.

 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 telling it 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      

 

 

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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

Gravitas

Originally published Oct 3, 2015

Midget-man

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:

 

Kenneth:

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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If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

 

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