O Brave New World

I love the Flammarion engraving.  Its an image that feels hard-wired into my mind.  It is, quite simply, my mission statement.

Yesterday I sat for many hours with a dear friend, engaged on one of those rambling metaphysical discussions that sometimes go round in circles and sometimes find a new, untrodden path.  I’d like to share what happened with you – my wider community of dear friends – and would welcome your comments and ideas on the implications of what was suggested…

So, specifically, we had agreed on several points:

  • That there are certain places on our planet – sacred sites, as they’re commonly known, and certain artefacts – usually behind glass in museums – which in some mysterious way hold a key to piercing that veil (see picture above) and accessing the akashic realms.
  • That it’s possible to enter an altered state and reach this akasha in the presence of these places or objects, but equally possible to be totally unmoved by them.  It appears to depend on your state of mind.
  • That the ideal way to approach these sacred places and objects, should you wish for the enlightenment they may facilitate, is what’s known as ‘A-thought’ (see here for a fuller explanation of this concept) – the state of mind we enter when following synchronicity or remote viewing, for example.
  • That it’s difficult, sometimes, to enter that state at will, as we so easily get sucked back into the ‘common sense’ world of cause-and-effect and logic.  That’s why so many seekers have used ritual, psychotropic substances, drumming, dance or sensory deprivation to jump-start such an experience.
  • That we could do with a bit of guidance before we next set off to hunt down the hidden realms and the treasures lurking there.

“We could try asking my Guides,” I said.

Koimul, the guide I can sometimes channel, has, as regular readers will know, taken a recent interest in my explorations of metaphysical realms.  It felt like the right sort of question to ask.

As we’d hoped, Koimul was right on the case and happy to discuss our questions.  It soon became clear, in fact, that Koimul had been tuning in to our conversation and made several references to it in what followed.

We were told that certain sites we’d considered visiting  ‘WOULD ATTUNE YOU TO THEIR ENERGY’ and provide ‘ESOTERIC KNOWLEDGE FOR REACHING WHAT [YOU] SEEK.

We asked for a definition of what – exactly – we were seeking. (It’s so easy to get mired in obscurity when discussing these numinous ideas.)  Koimul called it ‘MAWDEN’ and defined it as ‘REALITY BEYOND FOUR DIMENSIONS’.

Next we asked about the ‘sacred’ sites and artefacts.  I’d read in Seth’s books that no place is, of itself, more sacred than any other, but is made so by the energy placed there by those who use it.  I’d always wanted some clarity on that, as certain places certainly ‘feel’ more special than others.  So were these places and objects some kind of ‘tool’?

‘NOT OF THEMSELVES,’ Koimul explained, ‘BUT THEY LEAD YOU TO THAT WHICH YOU SEEK’.

Okay, so how, exactly did that work?

We were told, ‘VISIT THE SITES.  LEARN WHAT THEY HAVE TO TEACH YOU AND FOLLOW THE PATH THEY LEAD YOU ON VIA SYNCHRONICITY’.  Koimul explained that the sites were not sacred or special in themselves, but that the knowledge that humans can’t always access is encoded or – literally – crystallised within the stones or artefacts in these places.  It becomes possible for us to access them if we are in the right frame of mind – that A-Thought state we had already identified as important. 

With amazing clarity, Koimul went on to tell us how each member of the group who will be going on this trip has particular abilities to contribute and added ‘COMBINE YOUR SKILLS WITH WILLIAM’S SIGHT TO MOVE TO YOUR GOAL’.

That was unexpected.  William, my remote viewing partner, will not be joining us in person, but he usually gets involved remotely and views places we visit, sometimes seeing things we don’t.  This time, though, Koimul had a new role in mind for Will:  ‘WILLIAM WILL VIEW THE SITES IN ADVANCE AND HE WILL LEAD [YOU] TO THEM’.

The more I think about it, the cleverer Koimul’s idea sounds.  It seems to me as if what we’ll be doing is reversing cause-and-effect.  Normally I go and hang out somewhere and give Will the time or location (the cause).  He then views where I am (the effect).  Reversing it, though, means the effect – what Will ‘sees’ – is established before the event that ’causes’ it – us going there – has occurred.  We only arrive there because he says we have done so, even though it won’t have happened at that point.

Have I got that right?

Koimul appears to be preparing us to enter whichever locations emerge, having by-passed time and cause-and-effect and having neatly defied logic.  That should certainly put us in the correct frame of mind to be open to whatever synchronicity unfolds…

 

Synchronise your watches…

So where did it start, this little chain of perfect synchronicities?

I think a couple of weekends ago, when Will (my remote viewing partner) sent me a message.   I was better able to understand his thoughts when I received this message on Facebook, the next day.

You see Will is an Aspie.  He isn’t so bothered about making value judgements about how ‘good’ or ‘not good’ something is.  He just likes to analyse the way it is.  The way he had analysed our remote viewing experiences was, roughly, that since he wasn’t getting consistently perfect results and since many people were biased against such a non-mainstream way of viewing locations, it had disadvantages compared to using Google Earth or similar technology to view a remote location.

I couldn’t fault his logic.  I couldn’t even put my finger on what made me feel rather sad about it.  It was something like remote viewing feeling rather special and magical, and brilliant as GPS may be, it didn’t tick the same boxes for me.

I couldn’t deny that our viewings were rather mixed in quality.  Sometimes they’ve been spot on, but often they were rather wide of the mark.  Neither of us had been able to figure out what affected that.  We’d tried a few theories but nothing had given him the accuracy he was seeking.

So there’s the trigger.  Now for the synchronicities:  (For anyone reading who isn’t sure what synchronicity is, it’s a state in which normal cause-and-effect is augmented by an extra layer of reality.  It can appear like a series of bizarre coincidences, but there is a definite intelligence and consciousness embedded in it and organising it.  The individual is led along a path towards a new level of understanding or an experience they have chosen at soul level to receive.)

Graphics, Wallpaper, The BackgroundA night or two after Will’s message, I decided to watch TV.  I don’t often do that.  There was a repeat of a programme about the mind of Einstein.  I’d seen it before but I felt very drawn to watch it again.

A scientist was using impressive CGI to demonstrate how an object could only definitively be located if, in addition to the north-south, east-west and up-down co-ordinates, you added in TIME.  That was because, she explained, objects are not always and forever in the same place.

I was impressed with that.  It was a very clear and tidy explanation.  I didn’t, at this point, link it to anything else.  I just had a strong hunch that I didn’t need to watch any more of this programme.  I found myself getting irrationally irritated by it and turned it off.

‘So what shall I do now?’ I asked myself and another strong hunch came along.  I felt drawn to go to my computer.

There was nothing I needed to do on it.  I’d already spent quite a while staring at the screen earlier in the day.  I didn’t want to!  I picked up my dinner plate and headed towards the kitchen, intending to do the washing up.  As I opened the kitchen door, the hunch was almost screaming at me: ‘Go to the computer!  You need to channel.’

Right. Okay.  Got it.

Feeling bemused, but knowing it was right, I opened Word, typed in a message to my Guides saying I felt drawn to speak to them and asking if they had something to tell me.  Then I picked up my crystal dowsing pendulum and waited for it to start swinging about over the keyboard, picking out the message I would receive.  I barely use this method these days, but the pull to do it was too strong to ignore.

Within moments, we had connected and my guides were telling me they wanted to give me some information on how Will and I could improve our remote viewing.

Wow.

The message came through incredibly clearly.  They told me remote viewing was not a form of telepathy (that was one of the ideas we had recently been debating) and that when I tried to telepathically ‘send’ my location to him, I was inadvertently causing a fog around myself.  I was to stop doing that and just focus on being where I was, leaving the ‘finding’ to Will.

Next, they told me Will hadn’t been using the time co-ordinate when he viewed me.  Let’s say I planned to be in a specific location at 2pm.  He would do the viewing at that time and I’d be in position.  Sometimes, though, he picked up somewhere I’d been ten minutes before.  That, my guides were explaining, was because he wasn’t specifically searching for me at the set time.  If he focused on me AND the time, he’d get much more accurate viewings.  I chatted through a few of our recent near misses and they were even able to tell me where Will had ‘seen’ me – usually in a place I’d looked at and passed on my way to the target.  They pointed out that as long as he put in the time co-ordinate, he could do the viewing at any other time in his life – before or after the target event.

So time, like space, only exists within physical realms.  It merely acts as a marker when you’re dealing with realms beyond our three – or rather four – dimensions.

Very excited, I sent a transcript of my channelled conversation to Will.

Ship, Tanker, Oil, Transportation, SeaA couple of nights later I went to a lecture on psychic phenomena.  The speaker told the story of an expert remote viewer who had done a ‘real time’ live viewing on TV – even seeing an oil tanker arrive on the scene while he was viewing it – but later confessed that he’d actually done the viewing the previous day, before the target destination had even been chosen!

Needless to say, I passed that information on to Will as well.

The following weekend he did a series of very accurate viewings of places I’d been earlier in the day.  In each case I’d merely noted the time I was there and later asked him to focus on me at that time.

Today we did a ‘live’ viewing, but followed my guides’ advice.  Once again, he got the clearest of viewings.  For him the ‘dominant building’ – which he described extremely accurately – was the one I was beside at the given time.  There were far larger structures nearby, but he saw them as fainter.  In other words, he had located me (the object) in time and was able to pinpoint my position.

Will has revised his opinion of the usefulness of remote viewing in light of this new information.  He’s been very satisfied with our recent results.

Me?  I just love synchronicity!

 

 

The Blame Game

Sorry for another political rant.

It started with a phone call from my youngest, and the subject – as it inevitably does in the UK at the moment – drifted into politics.  It shouldn’t have been a problem.  We both, for the record, voted to remain in the EU; we were both dismayed at the result.  There, though, the similarities end.  For me, a slightly grim pragmatism has taken over – a kind of ‘Well, OK, we’re in this mess, so what can we do to make the best of it?’ attitude.  His disappointment, however, has taken him in a different direction.

“Not wanting to cause offence or anything,” he said, “but you know it was mainly the older people who voted for Brexit.”

I pointed out that two thirds of young people hadn’t even bothered to use their votes.

Old Man, Man, Face, Senior, Older, Weathered, Age“Well, yes, maybe,” he continued, “but it isn’t fair that these people, who won’t even be around to deal with the consequences, should have decided our future.  A group of us were saying, the other night, that – just as there’s a lower cut-off point for voting of 18 – there should maybe be a cut-off at the other end and people over 70…”

“When I reach 70,” I told him, icily, “I expect to last for approximately another 30 years.  That’s longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Well yes,” (he knows as well as I do the genetic predisposition of women in our family to last well into their nineties and often beyond) “perhaps 70 is a bit harsh.  Maybe it should be more like…”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence.

There was me thinking the ‘Remain’ camp had the higher moral ground.  We were the ones who had said, ‘Well admittedly all is not as we’d like it, but let’s stay in the Union and change things from within, rather than throwing babies out with the bathwater and putting the blame for all our ills on others – immigrants, economic migrants, European bureaucracy, Greece, Germany or whatever.’

Seems I was wrong.

As soon as the Remainers have reason to feel miffed, what do they do?  They begin flailing around looking for someone to blame.  The Scots blame the English.  The educated blame the ignorant.  My son and his mates would happily disenfranchise their parents and grandparents, just as surely as the Brexiteers would gleefully repatriate the European workers who are propping up our health service.

Why?

Index, Finger, Pointing, You, Hand, MeBecause BLAME is endemic in our culture.  We have grown up believing that everything we dislike is someone else’s fault.  All we need to do is find that someone, punish or denounce or harass them and things will start to get better.

Such an attitude is the stuff of life to our media; they thrive on fuelling the ‘righteous’ indignation of the many against the few.

It is the modus vivendi of politics.  We look on miserably while the two sides slug it out in parliament, endlessly blaming each other for whatever mess we’re in.

The trouble is, there are no winners in the Blame Game – just losers.

So how would it look, I’m wondering, if we stopped blaming?

Just simply stopped.

How would it look if each one of us took responsibility for the way things are now?

What if we calmly considered what we’re happy with and what could do with changing?

What if we then set about entering into a blame-free dialogue with others to find ways of improving matters?

What if the media observed and reported on what is happening in the country and beyond, without apportioning blame or inciting revenge?

What if politicians didn’t square up to each other across a divided room and hurl insults and recrimination?  What if they formed into all-party special interest groups – individuals with particular levels of experience and expertise in particular areas of government – and became groups of ‘elders’ who sat around a table and worked together to forge a way forward for the benefit of all?

It couldn’t be a lot worse, could it?  Maybe it could be a great deal better…

It all starts with us, though – us not blaming anyone.

Is Reality Real?

Fantasy, Dream, Reality, Virtual, Nature, ExistenceFor years I’ve been receiving a ‘weekly powerful question’ from some site I once subscribed to.  The title of this post was this week’s offering.  Yep, that’s a powerful question all right.

I presume what it’s really asking is something like, ‘Is objective reality real?’  to which I’d have to reply, ‘No, I don’t believe it is.’

In that book I wrote, back in 2012, (see About page for details) I described myself as an anti-empiricist.  I still stand by that.  I think rationalism and empirical thought has taken humanity down a narrow  – and probably blind – alley.  It’s a bit like time; it only works within certain narrow parameters.  Within those, it’s extremely useful, but beyond them, relatively useless.

People in lab coats will measure and test to their hearts’ content, but even they know that if they send their measuring instruments into space and accelerate the craft, their rulers will change length and their clocks won’t work at the same speed as the ones left on Earth.

Reality, it seems to me, is wonderfully, gloriously and infinitely bendy.  We have infinite probability drives (not to be confused with Douglas Adams’ Infinite IMprobability Drive) built into our psyche.  Here’s the improbable one, for the benefit of fellow Adams fans:

What I mean is that if we can imagine it, it exists.  We bring ‘reality’ into being through the process of that very act of imagination.

As an example, I recently read this article on traditional Australian healers – ngangkari.  These are ‘real’ people.  They exist and have names.  The article even shows photos of them.  They travel as spirit by night, helping and caring for their community.  By day, they heal anyone who comes to them.  One describes how he was taught by his elders, during his ngangkari training, to remove physical objects as he draws out the sickness – sticks, stones and so forth – from his patients’ bodies, in order to demonstrate to them that healing has actually taken place. (Obviously his community has its sceptics, too).  Another speaks of simply laying hands on the patient.  They speak of tools – mapanpa – which are sent to them and which (some say) reside in their bodies.  Some are able to move these through their bodies and send them out as healing to patients through ‘openings’ in their hands or foreheads; others report that they fall to the ground with small explosions – items resembling little black stones, pieces of shaped bone and whatnot – for the ngangkari to gather and use.

My point is that in different communities within the indigenous Australian population, the ways in which a ngangkari functions will vary, depending on the customs, training and beliefs of that particular social group.  All are equally ‘real’.

Cure, Drug, Cold, Dose, The Disease, PharmacyWellness, Massage, ReikiIf your own reality includes Reiki, spiritual healing and similar modalities, none of the above will sound too strange to you.  If, in your experience, though, healing involves visiting the GP, taking prescription drugs and occasional visits to the Minor Injuries Unit, it may be harder to view such things as ‘real’.

I think the difficulty lies in consciousness.  Consciousness, mainstream science will argue, is “a sensation created by electro-chemical activity in the ‘wiring’ of the brain”.  (That’s the definition I just found in a book I’m currently reading about how ‘modern man’ emerged.)  To me, that’s like insisting that the Sahara Desert exists within my television set, because I’m able to observe it on my TV screen.

Certainly we can observe consciousness at work within the brain, but lodging it in there is ridiculously limiting.  Consciousness exits beyond and interpenetrates everything we perceive and – far more importantly – everything we can imagine.

So, to answer my ‘weekly powerful question’, I believe consciousness is real and inasmuch as consciousness enables me to envisage ‘reality’, my external reality is real for me while I am inhabiting this – temporary – physical body form.  How much you are able or willing to share that reality, though, depends on how much social conditioning we have in common.  I may see, hear or otherwise experience things that are not ‘dreamt of in your philosophy’ – and vice versa, of course.  I also have an internal reality, of course, which seems to be synonymous with Consciousness.  That, I share with everyone and everything around me at some level, rather like the air I breathe.  Exploring that is where the real adventures begin…

 

Democracy, wossat then?

I’ve been working with a 12-year-old student – we’ll call her Sian – on philosophy.  We’d been following a storyline for several weeks.  Her job was to consider the issues thrown up by the situations in the story and look at possible solutions from different perspectives.

Legoland, Building Blocks, Legos, LegoHere’s the story so far:  She had woken one morning as the only inhabitant of a remote desert island, with a crown, a pen and a blank scroll headed Rules of The Island.  She had no recollection of how she got there but discovered ample food supplies, fresh water and materials to make a shelter.

Over the weeks, Sian had worked diligently to compose her set of rules to live by, to decide that – in the absence of all others – she was sovereign of all she surveyed and to develop a style of living which would ensure her own survival but protect the species and ecosystem of the island.

A couple of weeks ago, so the story continued, a group of migrants arrived on the island and asked to stay.  Sian considered all the implications of this and agreed to accept them.  She showed the new arrivals where to find food and water and suggested where they could construct shelters.

On June 23rd (Referendum Day in the UK, and yes, I did plan it that way!) she had a new philosophical dilemma to face.  Now that she was no longer alone on the island, how were decisions to be made?  Would she keep her crown and insist the newcomers obeyed her rules or should there be an alternative form of government?  What were the options?

I presented her with a whistle-stop tour of all forms of leadership from dictatorship and monarchy, through various forms of oligarchy to democracy, carefully avoiding passing on any bias of my own.  We also took a passing look at anarchy.

Lego, Head, Brick, People, Figure, FaceSian sifted through the options with commendable thoroughness.
“Don’t want that one – it’s like Hitler!”
“No, you’ve got to have some rules or it would be horrible.”
“I like democracy best.  That’s what we’ll have!”

“OK,” I said.  “There are two forms of democracy.  There’s representative democracy, where people vote for individuals to represent their interests and make decisions on their behalf, like we do at general elections, or there’s direct democracy where every single person has a vote on each decision, like in today’s referendum.  Which do you prefer?”

Sian thought again.  She considered politicians and what she’d heard about them – how they looked after themselves first and broke promises.
“I think direct democracy is the fairest,” she finally decided.
“Fine,” I said.  “So each person on the island has an equal vote in all matters.  You’re happy that would work?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Wait – NO!  What if there was one of them who had really bad ideas?”
“Well, they’d only have one vote,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but they might be – you know – good at persuading other people to do what they wanted.  It might be someone who said everyone had to prove themselves by swimming with the sharks or something.  That would be an awful idea.  It would be really dangerous.  And some people would just go along with what they said.”
Lego, Head, Face, Activity, Block, Brick“Ah,” I smiled.  (I so love lessons like this, and the way – left with time to consider – children will think things through.) “So what would you do if that happened?”
“Kill him,” she returned, calmly.
“Would that be democratic?” I wondered.
“Oh no, it wouldn’t, would it?  So no, I wouldn’t kill him, but… Oh it’s difficult!”

Yes, Sian.  It is.

Lego, Head, People, Figure, Face, ScaredThe following morning I, and just about everyone else in Britain, was reeling from the shock of the vote to leave Europe.  We knew it would be close, but we didn’t expect the Brexit lot to win.  Not even they expected it.

At 8am, as I walked into the main station of a nearby city, a TV camera and microphone were thrust into my face.  What did I think about the result?

I was taken off-guard.  I had many thoughts, but all I could manage to splutter was, “Horrifying – just horrifying.  But it was a democratic vote, so I suppose we’ll just have to deal with what happens now.”

Like my young student, I’d felt the full force of democracy’s dark side.  People are easy to manipulate.  Let them believe they’ll be better off and have more opportunities and they’ll vote to swim with the sharks every time.

A week in politics is a long time, though.  The politicians are so busy stabbing each other in the back that it’s hard to imagine who will be left to lead.  A House of Cards scenario playing out, complete with a Francis Urquhart character?  You might very well think that.  I couldn’t possibly comment.

I decided to put my fears and fury aside and to meditate.

Toys, Blocks, Brick, Plastic, LegoI was shown – so clearly I could call it a vision – a huge pile of Lego bricks on the ground.  They were in a dark place, jumbled and chaotic.  As I watched, three narrow beams of light shone down on them, illuminating parts of the pile.  I realised I was being shown the purpose of Lego.  It’s for building.  The more complete the destruction, the greater the opportunity to build something new – something better.  Our British nations have been controlled by fear and blame for so long.  Our political system stood on these twin pillars.  Perhaps they needed to fall.  Perhaps the ugly underbelly of xenophobia and self-interest needed to be revealed so that it could finally be dealt with.  I choose to believe that something finer will, eventually, emerge.  That’s where I’ll put my energy.

 

 

Didn’t know I had a petard, and here I am hoist with it

Grenade, Bomb, War, Weapon, DangerI had to look petard up: a small bomb apparently.  As for being hoist on/by/with it, we have Shakespeare to thank for that one.  All I knew was that it meant, roughly, to fall into one’s own trap, and that I’ve certainly done this week.

Embarrassed, but trying hard to be authentic, so…

Allow me to explain.

A few weeks ago I was asked to take on a pair of new students – young brothers who shared a genetic condition with their mother.  “Multi-systemic” I was told, so the effects of this syndrome involve skin, joints, brain and just about any part of the body you can think of.  The words ‘complex learning difficulties’ were also mentioned.

To be honest, I was almost at full stretch before these lads appeared on the scene.  Planning two lots of lessons in maths and English tailored to their particular mix of strengths (very high intelligence) and challenges, as well as homework each week would, I knew, take at least an entire day.  Then there was the teaching itself, which I could only just slot in amongst my other young pupils.  Everything logical in my mind was screaming, “No, don’t do it!  What about that work/life balance you wanted?  You are past retirement age, you know.  And this lady wants you to work on right through the summer holidays.  When will you get to see the family?”

But the kids were lovely.  Finding ways of working around their difficulties would be fascinating – previously uncharted territory, the type of challenge I thrive on.  They weren’t fitting into schools.  Their constant pain and exhaustion, as a result of the syndrome, was too much for them when combined with a normal school day.  The mother, though, was being threatened by the authorities for not providing sufficient education.

I said, ‘Yes’.

Of course I did.

Writing, Boy, Child, Student, KidFor a couple of weeks it went fine.  Yes, I did end up doing lesson prep all through the weekends but they seemed to be progressing well and I was enjoying working with them.  Then this week they appeared full of smiles but without homework.  A casual ‘lost it somewhere in my room’ from one and ‘I didn’t realise you wanted me to do that’ from the other.

Inwardly I was irritated.  The homework sheets had taken me ages to prepare.  The work I’d planned for this week followed on from what they were meant to have done.  Their mother had particularly requested homework.  It was meant to protect her from being taken to court… and blah, blah, blah.

Outwardly, I smiled, suggested mildly that maybe they could try to get it done for the following week and carried on.  The lessons went fine and I went to bed that night feeling very happy.

Oh I know at least one of my readers knows exactly what’s coming!

I woke up the next morning to a text from the children’s mother.  Both of them had told her I was ‘grumpy’ during their lessons.  She wondered what was wrong.

I was mortified.  The lessons had (I thought) been lovely – lots of laughter and progress.  Was I just a delusional old bat?  Had I ended up like those elderly lady teachers I remembered from my own school days – miserable and past it?  Was it time to stop and give up – to sit in a rocking chair knitting all day?

I flashed a quick message back, saying I had been disappointed that they’d not bothered with the homework, but wasn’t aware of being grumpy about it; that I’d tried hard to keep the work lively and enjoyable and so forth.

Then I sat and thought.

Why was I choosing to be so upset by this?  Why had this incident shown up in my life?  What did it have to teach me?

The reply came almost at once, in a further message from the children’s mum.  She hadn’t wanted to upset me.  She just felt she had to be authentic and tell me their reaction.  It wasn’t my words or actions they had reacted to, it was my feelings.  They were, she added, extremely sensitive and picked up on the energy people projected.

Heart, Love, Idea, Light BulbAh.

Got it.

That heart-based telepathy thing.

So I thanked her – and the universe – for providing me with that reminder.  I told her about my last blog post, on exactly this subject, and promised to attempt to be more open and authentic in future.

See what I mean about being hoist with my own petard?  This communicating-from-the-heart business is not easy.  I’m glad to have these two young teachers.  Like all good teachers, they’ve appeared just as the student is ready:)

 

The Symptoms of Normalism

Distribution, Normal, StatisticsNot easy, but I’m trying, for a moment, to look at my tribe – the people who regard themselves as ‘normal’ or ‘neuro-typical’ – from the outside.  I’m trying to see us from the perspective of those Version 2.0 people who are wired differently.  (I’ve reverted to my ‘Version 2.0’ label because not all of them are on the autistic spectrum as it is normally described.  Many are – but there are others, variously called ‘sensitives’, or ’empaths’ or those with various diagnoses or descriptions of differentness, and I wish to include them all.)

Disclaimer:  I use the term ‘Normal’ throughout this article in a somewhat ironic sense.  I personally consider terms like ‘normal’ and ‘disordered’ to be chauvinistic and symptomatic of what is wrong with common assumptions in our society.  Also, I am a person with ‘Normalism’ and I love words.  I can’t imagine life without their richness and beauty.  This post is just a thought experiment, okay?

 

Probably the most difficult aspect of Normals to comprehend is the disparity between what they say and what they actually feel or think.

“No, it looks great on you, honestly.”

(‘It would actually suit someone twenty years younger much better, but I understand you’re going through a bit of a mid-life crisis and if it makes you feel good to wear it, that’s fine by me.’)

“Oh it’s nothing.  Really not worth reading – just something I scribbled off last night.”

(‘I poured my heart and soul into these words, but I’m terrified you won’t understand and will dismiss them as trivial or stupid, so I’m pretending it’s not important to me in order to shield myself in advance from any critical comments you may make.  Anything hurtful you say will still upset me deeply, though.’)

“Well who’s the teacher’s pet, then?”

(‘I feel envious of the praise you received for that assignment and my inability to produce anything that good.  I am therefore attempting to make you feel uncomfortable.  It is my hope that my negative reaction to your success will encourage you to try less hard in the future, thus letting me gain more approval from the teacher.’)

Professor, Mathematician, Scientists“It’s important for you to get an expert opinion.”

(‘You are inferior.  You are incapable of reaching a satisfactory answer, due to the prejudices and fixed ideas lodged in your brain.  There are far better individuals than you whose prejudices and fixed ideas come for other individuals with letters after their names.  These people know what is best for you, despite not knowing a great deal about you.  I know this because I learned it from experts.’)

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

I’m aware as I write this that I live in southern England, an area particularly renowned for this kind of double-speak.  Northern Brits, Americans and Australians, for example, would readily assert that they are far more inclined towards plain speaking, calling-a-spade-a-spade and otherwise using spoken language to express what they feel.  Really?  Try, for just one conversation, to avoid any sarcasm, any ironic aside, any well-meant but artificial compliment, any indication that you sort-of agree, despite the fact that you don’t, or any self-depreciating statements that are not in total resonance with what you feel.

Silver Leaf, Lunaria, SilberlingYou’ll argue, perhaps – you Normals – that without such social niceties, speech would be brutal, hard and cold.  People would be offended.  They might take against you.  They might (this is the greatest fear) not flatter and praise you in return.  Normals require an almost constant drip-feed of approval.  Without this, paranoia sets in.  That’s why Normals struggle in their contact with the other tribes.  The Asperger guy is not going to tell you that you look good, that it’s great to see you, that he’s glad you came.  You’re there; he’s there.  No more to be said.  Normals are needy, though.  They want that stuff.  They’ll cheerfully relinquish honesty to get it.

In a previous post I mentioned the 7 year-old Version 2.0 child who came to me distraught after a quarrel with his friend.  “She told me she was sorry,” he said, “but I can see into her heart and that isn’t the feeling that’s there.”
It wasn’t the quarrel that had upset him, but the fact that his friend didn’t respect him enough to share her heartfelt feelings. She insulted him by feigning an apology.

If the Version 2.0 people can ‘see into someone’s heart’ (all this is explained far better in the previous post, written by The Snacking Sage and in Suzy Miller’s important book ‘Awesomism’), nothing but honesty will do.

The small child who asks, “Why are you sad, Mummy?” and is told, “I’m not sad, dear.  I’m fine,” by a mother who attempts to conceal the truth because she doesn’t want to worry him will – obviously – worry all the more if he knows he’s being lied to.

Looking Up, Hope, Black White, PortraitThere are more of these Others – these Non-Normals – than might be imagined.   They are way-showers.  They can teach Normals – if we’ll truly stop chattering and listen to their silence – to discard the fake conversation and to return to the openness that is a natural by-product of telepathic communication.

Yes, I can see that there would be difficulties and challenges, but ultimately, aren’t we all yearning for greater transparency?  Aren’t we, after all, sick to death of being lied to and cheated by those in authority, by multi-nationals who mislead us for their own profits, by those who claim to be acting in our ‘best interests’?  It’s worth considering that there are many individuals who are similarly sick of the lack of honesty in ‘Normal’ social interaction.

This is only a personal viewpoint, but I suspect the ‘shift’ that occurred around 2012 involved a fundamental change of mindset amongst humanity – a desire to move beyond ‘them and us’ towards a fairness and openness based on personal responsibility, not the imposition of rules by a corrupt leadership.  That could work, if only we could communicate heart to heart.

 

Speaking without words.

The Snacking Sage – one of the people who regularly comments on my blog – generously agreed to try to explain from the ‘inside’ of autism how their telepathic form of communication works.

I think it’s an excellent attempt and I can imagine how hard it was for him to put across such ideas in a way of communication which, to him, is a ‘second language’.

Thank you so much Sage. I hope others will find it as interesting as I do. – Jan

The Snacking Sage

(I’m going to ramble, as I said, I think something broke inside I can’t seem to stop the flow of thought seeping everywhere oh, and I never learned ‘proper’ essay structure. Maybe someone should edit this and repost when I am done with it?)

So Some people have been wondering just what goes on inside the minds of those people who are called “autistic” by some. And seeing as I am one of them, We all have a rare opportunity here. Be it by chance or fate, Things have eventuated that allow me to communicate with people now. The Irony here is not lost on me. But That is irrelevant. For the first time in a very long time, I will speak as I do in my mind. I’m taking my “filter” (aka the sage you ‘know’) off for this. I can be rather scary, so be warned. No allowance…

View original post 1,404 more words

Communication – another way?

Face, Soul, Head, Smoke, Light, SadI’m aware that I’ve gained a few new followers recently – thank you so much and welcome to my ramblings and wonderings – so I thought it might be a good time to briefly explain the William connection before launching into another post about him and autistic spectrum perception.

William is a young man in his mid twenties, whom I met almost 20 years ago.  He began as a pupil in a class I was teaching – a class for kids with speech and language difficulties.  A set of circumstances which might be considered very strange, if you didn’t believe in pre-planned soul contracts, caused our paths to cross and re-cross in many ways, so that even now we are the best of friends.  Despite the fact that he is only able to communicate with me through text and email at present, I still have longer and deeper communications with him than with anyone else I know.

School, Teacher, The PupilSo yes, to begin with I believed my role was to teach William to communicate.  He had oral dyspraxia, which meant he had a very limited range of speech sounds.  Additionally he was on the autistic spectrum, which meant that social communication – reading body language, facial expressions, tone of voice etc. was challenging for him.  He made excellent progress, no denying that.  However at the same time, he and a couple of his classmates began teaching me other ways of communicating – ways I’d never dreamed of.

Alan could ‘beam’ states of mind into my head.  I didn’t have to be facing him, or even thinking about him, to find that I was aware that he was feeling angry, frustrated, impatient or in need of help.  Martin’s speciality was sending words to me.  I could ‘hear’ what he was saying, although no words had been spoken aloud, sometimes from across the building.  Once I spotted him and made eye contact, he’d give the briefest of nods, meaning, “Good, you got it.”

William was on another level entirely.  “I think,” he told me, rather deferentially, one morning when he was about eight, “I should tell you that I’m telepathic.”
He waited, a slight smile playing around his lips, for the full impact to sink in.
“You mean you can read my mind?” I asked, suddenly feeling horribly exposed.
He nodded, allowing the smile to break loose.

Of course the children used this form of communication amongst themselves all the time.  I’d often wondered how a bunch of kids with only the most rudimentary verbal language abilities were able to engage in imaginative games, with each of them understanding their role perfectly.  Once William twigged that I was sometimes able to pick up snippets of their telepathic communication, he took it upon himself to tutor me in these skills, although never overtly.

It’s subtle, this hidden communication – infinitely so.  By comparison, spoken language is crass and imperfect.  Our labels and descriptions, no matter how extensive our vocabulary, are often open to misinterpretation or simply inadequate to convey our true intent.

Having spent a lifetime closely observing children of all ages, and in particular watching my own three and my two grandchildren develop language, I firmly believe that all humans begin life with the subtle, non-verbal language.
“Oh, she understands so much of what we say,” parents will tell you as they cradle an infant in their arms.
Maybe. I suspect the tiny person is understanding far more of what the parent thinks. I also believe she is using this telepathic (for want of a better word) skill to communicate her needs to the mother. Most would not put this at more than a ‘close bond’ between mother and child.  What, though, if it’s something far greater?

Learning, Telephone, To Call, AlarmOnce they had learned to speak clearly and to follow the conventions of conversation, my little students more-or-less ceased using their telepathy.  Our society places great value on effective spoken and written language.  The children – Will included – worked diligently to improve these.  I was busily congratulating myself on our success and only dimly aware of what we had lost in the process.

As I’ve said, though, this was a soul contract, and although the children  went their different ways and I moved back into mainstream teaching, William and I still had far more to teach one another.

We stayed in touch.  Sometimes we’d have long, rambling, fascinating conversations that would last for hours, and I’d be amazed at how brilliantly he’d picked up the ability to speak.  At other times, though, he’d withdraw for days, weeks or even months at a time.  Conventional language caused too much stress and the best I could hope for was a single word text to let me know he was still alive or a ‘beamed’ impression of his state of mind.  Not great, usually.

Now it’s come full circle.  Yesterday, William sent me a draft article for inclusion in his second book.  It’s a stunner.

He begins by explaining how it is for people on the autistic spectrum to attempt to learn social communication.  Ruefully, he says:

Having to learn such skills is generally very difficult and time consuming. An analogy may be learning a second language which for the vast majority, autistic or not, is again very difficult and time consuming. And even then, few who learn a second language can match the fluency and competency of a native speaker whose language skills developed naturally as part of growing up.

He bemoans the fact that, despite this, the non-autistic population expect perfection from those challenged in this way.

Later, he begins to consider the reason computer-based language is easier for ASP people to manage:

Man, Notebook, Continents, Binary, CodeMany autistic people demonstrate a good level of competency with computers – likely to be linked to their operation depending on clearly defined protocols and mathematics, things which are very different to how social communication and interaction works.  Most communication between people which occurs via computers is in a written format, offering a greater similarity with the clearly defined operating protocols of a computer, since written communication often takes a more formal and literal interpretation of language than face to face communication.  This also removes the need to attempt to understand body language and tone of voice – things often problematic for those with autism.

Only in the final paragraph does he allow his thoughts to wander into that other type of communication – the early ‘telepathy’ and our more recent forays into ‘remote viewing’.  William isn’t certain that either of these terms fully encompass or describe what is actually taking place.

[ASP people] have a naturally different method of accomplishing [communication].  What exactly that method is I don’t believe is fully understood at present by either autistics or non-autistics.  I don’t believe the correct words have been attributed to autistic matters to describe or explain it properly.  I suspect at some point this will be achieved and hopefully will allow for autism to be harnessed to it’s full potential and remedy the blindness of so many.

I hope so, William.

 

We are still compiling The Words of William Volume Two.  Volume One is available via Amazon as a paperback in the UK, Europe and North America and as a Kindle edition worldwide.

 

 

Pink…

IMG_20160510_123740To quote one of my favourite Aerosmith songs (selectively – don’t want to cause offence), ‘it’s my new obsession’.

Why?  Because it’s the colour I’m painting my bedroom: walls, ceiling, the whole shebang.  Not some trendy hot pink, you understand, more a wistful, nostalgic dusty pink – the colour of the columbines that nod all around the garden below at this time of year.

You’re wondering why I’m updating you on my cottage renovations, no doubt.  Well, like I say, I’m slightly obsessed with it at the moment.  It’s trying hard to take over my life.  If I wanted to go all new agey, I could say it’s grounding me (‘Pink, it’s like red but not quite’ – more Aerosmith).  Not sure about that.  Certainly it’s anchoring me in the physical, if you can call wobbling about on a dust-sheet shrouded bed with a drippy paintbrush anchoring.  This self-created cave becomes my universe.  The aches in my shoulders and neck become my whole experience.  Most of all, though, the pink obliterates the ugly, stained, yellowing white that was there before, so I’m transforming my little world.

IMG_20160504_094431The rest of the cottage was finished ages ago.  This one room – the one that didn’t matter so much, because no one else saw it – was left.  I lavished attention on the spare room, so friends and family would have a lovely space to stay in; the study, so that my students had a good place to work; the kitchen, bathrooms, living room and stairwell – all relatively public spaces.  Then, each night, I’d repair to the depressing, grubby box of a bedroom, peer up at the water-stains left from when the roof used to leak and close my eyes quickly.

It’s taken me two years to give myself the gift of a new bedroom.  How pathetic that sounds!

Decorating is hassle – especially when you’re getting on a bit, arthritic and doing it all alone; especially when you work from home and have to keep parts of the house tidy and acceptable for the students; especially when you know all that peeling ceiling paper has to come off, and that it hides a depressing topography of ravines and craters; especially when most of the furniture is too big to move out of the room and has to be eased and shunted around .  Yes, I’d elevated procrastination to an art form.

IMG_20160522_163501Then I discovered something that will doubtless have been glaringly obvious to you; I was feeling cheated – cheated by myself.  And that was a pretty stupid state of affairs.

I reminded myself that I deserved a beautiful space to rest in, sleep in and wake in.  Suddenly, all those obstacles didn’t seem such a problem.  I’m taking them on, one at a time.

Initially there’s fear:  I pull back a piece of ceiling paper and find a gaping 5 cm hole behind it.  Next I tell the fear to move on, and wait for it to subside.  After that, I wait for the solution to come to me.  If I stay in that mindset, it always does.  Then I work through it.

The room, like so much of the cottage, is becoming a testament to positive thinking.  If I can imagine that it will be solved, then it will be.  Not finished yet, but getting there…