7:56 in the morning. I turn on my phone and a text message arrives almost at once.
I get a few normal texts – the ‘C U at 3.30’ type – but not so many. Most of the texts I get are more like this one.
‘Earthman will soon discover that he is not a unique, independent creation but one of many forms of intelligence fashioned out of multi-dimensional light.’
I’ll call the sender Lucy, because it means light and she is full of the stuff, and light is what we were discussing when she came round yesterday.
She arrived clutching The Book of Enoch, a white primrose plant and a couple of custard tarts. Within the space of ten minutes, she had given me the plant, eagerly seized one of my spare copies of The Words of William (“I just opened it at random, and he’s talking about something that links to this…”), shared the cakes, and settled down with a cup of herbal tea for one of our long, rambling discussions.
Ideas bounced and ricocheted around the room like cosmic ping-pong balls. For about three hours, we quoted books, dreams, visions and images. We spoke of life, death and everything between; we spoke of other worlds and dimensions, paranormal experiences and what-it-all-means. It was exhausting and invigorating, all at once.
We’re not walking the same path, Lucy and me; we’re not even heading in similar directions, but we are finding enough synchronicities and similarities on our routes to make discussion well worth while.
Then, this morning, that text, followed half an hour later by another, insisting that
…it is important to teach the scientists that matter is generated from Light…
I’d been telling her about my thoughts, you see, about our Selves (I mean the whole divine holofractalgraphic – Nassim Haramein’s word! – Selves) as beings of Light creating physical human selves and the matter around them. I couldn’t say how, exactly. I was describing this great stream of white light consciously and intentionally moving through something like a prism, or a rainstorm… the ‘veil’ perhaps? … and separating into a spectrum of rainbow colours. I get lost in physics, and need analogies to help me find my way.
So now I had the Light Self vibrating into these different frequencies – very high vibrations up at the purple end and lower ones down at the red part. Could that, I wondered, be where we get the idea of the subtle bodies from – the ones nested inside each other like rainbow-coloured Russian dolls? Was that what the chakras were – aspects of our shining Light, stepped down so that we could spend a while experiencing physical life on this planet?
Not, of course, the only way that Light could be separated out: she spoke of other types of being our Selves could try out. Our imaginations conjured star beings in dimensions overlapping ours, glimpsed as orbs or flashes of light or quite unseen by us, but quite real and solid to themselves, just as we are to ourselves.
The conversation made perfect sense to us. To others? Not so much, perhaps.
I’m lucky to have friends like ‘Lucy’. I’m lucky that conversations – and texts – like that are part of my everyday life.
Blarney Stone, County Cork, Ireland (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Does every writer have a muse? I like to think so. There are times when inspiration comes – the drawing in of a breath (that’s what inspiration is, after all) – and my writing flows with words that come through rather than from me. He’s called Liam, my muse – of Irish extraction, I believe. I suspect he’s one of my ancestors on the Celtic side of the family, one who has kissed the Blarney Stone.
If you’re imagining a lovely, jovial gent who sits at my shoulder, muttering ideas in a gentle, lilting, Terry Woganish way, though, forget it. He can be harsh, uncompromising and – as I discovered this week – utterly ruthless.
It all started when I decided to begin work on the new book: working title ‘After Life’.
In my sixty-something years, I’ve had perhaps more than my fair share of encounters with people in and around the After Life experience. By that I mean people who were ‘dying’, bereaved and – in one or two cases – already departed. I’d written quite extensively about it in various places and from various angles. All these writings were safely stashed on my computer, in neat little Word files. So surely, I reasoned, if I loaded all these into a master file, did a bit of editing to bring them together and fiddled around with the style, I’d be well on the way to finishing the book.
Liam, however, was not (forgive me) a-mused.
He started with the gentle mumblings in my ear…
This is old stuff. You can do better. Draw on all those experiences, but not the words…
On he nagged, and I wasn’t listening. Believe me, it doesn’t do to ignore your muse.
On Wednesday, I went to open a document. A mysterious dialogue box appeared. I clicked to ignore it and with an insolent ping, Word vanished. I tried again. Same box. This time I tried opening it. Another ping. Another blank screen.
My computer skills extend to, ‘If it isn’t doing what you want, turn off, count to 20 and try again.’ I tried that. Much bigger, scarier dialogue box told me I had a critical error.
I won’t bore you with the range of things that went wrong that afternoon. Suffice it to say, the machine was finally reduced to a gibbering wreck which, when turned on, insisted I was a ‘guest’ on my own computer and did some pathetic little loop of rebooting a few meaningless files continually until I switched off the power.
Phone call to techie son. Deep sighs from the other end of the phone line, followed by very calm instructions about what to hold down when and so forth. Nothing changed. He gave up eventually and told me to get it fixed. Or sling it.
Long consultation with lovely Paul-from-the-computer-shop. He might be able to fix it, he said, but it would mean <lots of long words>. He’d probably be able to extract most of the files. It was up to me whether I gave it a try or bought a new computer.
A tiny but rather wonderful thought was beginning to creep into my mind (inspired, of course…)
I’m a hoarder, you see. Everything I write, I keep. That poor old machine had every lesson I’d planned for classes and private students, going back a decade or more. It had more half-written books than I could remember. It had a mysterious file called ‘thoughts and messages’ and of course, it had all those scattered pieces of writing I’d been trying to cobble together for After Life, lodged with me useless.
I crawled off to bed, exhausted, battered, yet wondering. I was prompted to draw an oracle card – something I barely ever do these days. Clear Your Space it told me.
Next morning, my head was clear. I ordered a new computer, disconnected the old one and stowed it behind the sofa. Yes, I could have taken it down to Paul, to get the files out, but my muse had inspired me. I would try, I decided, to start from scratch.
So here I am, typing on my new machine with something akin to amnesia.
The book, if it happens, will be written as the muse intended. May I be truly inspired.
So I have found another new route – my own personal trek through the myriad criss-crossing paths, just to see where they lead me and what I discover along the way. I’m careful to vary my travels, to avoid retracing my steps. I bypass the more obvious well-trodden roads, to scramble instead through almost-forgotten overgrown footpaths and bridleways. I’m careful not to follow any track for too long; I’ll branch off sharply if I find that happening.
Not for me the ramblers’ group. I’ll happily stop and pass the time of day with those I meet along the way, listen to their wisdom or local knowledge and thank them warmly before heading onwards. Should anyone offer to guide me, though – to lead me to my destination – I’ll smile politely and decline. Some of them, I’m sure, have perfectly lovely journeys planned, but this is my trek, no one else’s.
Well yes, that’s a metaphor. Too cold here at the moment to be rambling anywhere. My journeys take place in this battered old computer chair with a log fire crackling away cheerfully beside me. I simply want to convey that I choose my own path and am, in the late autumn of my life, content and comfortable to travel it alone. A handful of people – mostly those who read these ramblings – have some idea of the journey I’m on. Almost everyone else in my life – all relatives and almost all friends and acquaintances – regard me as strange at best, deranged at worst. That’s why, to be honest, I left home (in my late fifties) and headed to a place where I would be, if not understood, exactly, at least tolerated.
I’m happy in my own skin. I’m comfortable writing blogs and books that few will read and still fewer will understand. I wake up each day knowing I have work to do – ponderings and wonderings and explorations of ideas. I’m metafizzing with excitement as I find a new quote that fits with a recent thought or see ideas I can recognise and relate to in someone else’s words. Would I swap all the richness of this life to be normal? Hell no.
Let me be absolutely clear, here. I am NOT deriding or criticising people whose lives revolve around celebrity gossip or the storylines of soaps. That is their path and it’s totally right that they follow it. Trainspotters and war gamers, Manchester United fans and ballroom dancers, shopaholics and chocaholics, churchgoers and landscape painters, hypochondriacs and bankers… all of these people and many, many more make our world richer and wider and filled with variety. I salute them all.
Every single one of us, I believe, has a higher Self – a consciousness more magnificent than we can fathom from this perspective. In each case, those Selves have carefully chosen a Life to live. They have elected to become totally engrossed in a human existence in order to try out new experiences, using feelings and emotions they want to develop and expand for the ultimate good of All That Is. From that perspective, no one is worthier or stranger than anyone else.
We encounter each other in these odd little lives and act out our parts, re-acting to the others and building the great work of art that is an individual lifetime as we do so.
It’s magical.
It’s expanding the Cosmos.
If someone else (or even everyone else) is puzzled by the path I am taking, that very puzzlement is enriching for both myself and them. In terms of Life-with-a-big-L, there are no wrong turnings, no wastes of time, no blind alleys.
I’ve been pondering deeply on all those ideas mentioned in my last post, and the comments which followed it. New thoughts and quotes continue to arrive from all quarters, backing up and validating the conclusions towards which I’ve been fumbling my way.
If you haven’t already done so, please take a look at the last couple of posts I’ve written. (You can navigate back with the left-pointing arrow at the end of this or check them here – 1st and here – 2nd.) They seem to have formed themselves into some kind of trilogy and this won’t make so much sense without its predecessors.
John Milton, National Portrait Gallery, London (detail) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A very quick recap:
The 17th century poet, John Milton, had told us of the anarchic potentials of untamed ether which, according to his Muse, preceded creation and held ’embrion atoms’.
Centuries later, the great Nikola Tesla offered a markedly similar picture. His ‘ponderable atoms’ could be drawn from ether, ‘a tenuous fluid, filling all space’ by way of a spinning motion.
Tesla’s contemporary, Max Planck, also concluded that matter, as such, did not exist. It was drawn into being and maintained ‘only by virtue of a force which brings the particle of an atom to vibration and holds this most minute solar system of the atom together’.
These Giants paint a very different picture of our Cosmos to the one we have grown up with. Are our solid, dependable teapots, desks, pets and trees this temporary and transient? Is the spinning motion of some force drawing them out of the ether, and – should it stop the spinning – depositing them back into that ocean of unformed possibility? I’m reminded of images from the 1972 film Solaris, in case any of you have seen it, where thoughts from the mind of an individual are drawn into three-dimensional reality from an orange gloop on the surface of a mythical planet. (Just the images, I hasten to emphasise, before someone tries to engage me in a dialogue on Stansilaw Lem’s philosophy, and not the dreadful George Clooney 2002 remake!)
That brings me towards the second part of my Giants’ assertions: the idea that an intelligent, enlightened consciousness with sufficient experience is able to create anything from this etheric substance at will; further, that WE are that consciousness.
So, I kind of promised you an answer, did I not? An answer to how we can, and do, create our universe (or universes, if you adhere to that theory). I said the scientists had failed to find this mechanism, because it was in a place they would never look. I found it lurking in the Milton passage I quoted last time:
… hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce,
Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring
Their embryon atoms.
At first I glossed over that part, dismissing it as a casual reference to the four elements, perhaps. Something, though – some hidden but insistent part of my consciousness – invited me to delve deeper.
English: Schematic showing the 4 humors or body fluids. Schematic based on a picture from the book “The Seventy Great Inventions of the Ancient World by Brian M. Fagan” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Milton’s champions are not the elements – not in the way they’ve come down to us, at any rate. They were a reference to what were called the Four Humours or Temperaments. In modern parlance, these would be personality types. Should you wish to know more, Wiki will tell you here. They’d been an integral part of natural philosophy (aka science) since Hippocrates developed what was already an ancient idea into a kind of medical tool kit. It all hinged on moods, emotions and the behaviours they caused. Even the cautious Wikipedia acknowledges that these theories could have been around in Ancient Egypt or Mesopotamia. And where did they get them? If Edgar Cayce is to be believed, the Atlanteans fleeing their sinking lands brought their knowing (sorry, gnosis) to those shores. And from whom did they receive it…?
Milton is not using the term in any medical sense. He is describing the jostling for supremacy between these temperaments or emotions as the ‘harnessed energy’ which propels creation.
Emotion?
Seriously?
No wonder the idea ‘declined in popularity’ (Wikipedia again) as science became rational and empirical. The last thing any self-respecting scientist wanted was for human feelings to get in the way of logic, mathematics and rigorous testing. Not until the last century did physicists grudgingly have to admit that the human observer affected things in some way.
Take a look, for example at this rather wonderful little video. I’d like you to focus your attention on the first few minutes – the bit before the flowers arrive.
(If you are accessing this from a source other than WordPress, you may need to look here for the film: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILSyt_Hhbjg )
Masuru Emoto showed us not only that water has memory, but that it responds to sentiments – emotional states. This Stuttgart study shows how each individual has a unique signature. Would these persist if the same people were tested on a different occasion, I wonder? I suspect the signatures would remain recognisable but would vary. I suspect this because I think what the water is picking up is the emotional signature of each individual.
If water can do so, how about ether? My theory is that it is nothing more or less than our own emotional states which create the familiar environment within the 3D matrix that surrounds us. There is a ‘base state’ common to all (except, perhaps some of the individuals our scientists classify as mentally ill or disordered) which results from a mass psyche – the Zeitgeist and its resultant reality. Overlaid on that is individual perception – the way the world appears to each of us, depending on the emotions prevalent within us. Thus someone who feels that the world is a hostile, unfriendly place will create that reality for herself, while a person who expects disappointment will find situations and events which result from the ‘spin’ he has put upon his life experience.
Does this sound slightly familiar? The Law of Attraction? The Secret? All that New Age stuff?? What, though, if it’s absolutely true: not in a metaphorical sense or as an analogy or parable? What if this is actually the way creation on our planet works?
One final group of Giants to turn to for some help with this. It does involve something of a dimensional shift, but I’m sure you’ll cope fine with that. I’m turning now to those who have chosen not to reincarnate as humans and enter into this emotionally charged etheric hurly-burly. These aspects of consciousness are the patient, loving beings who send channelled messages to us from beyond our 3D state.
Here is Seth, in Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul:
…you create your larger environment and the physical world as you know it by propelling your thoughts and emotions into matter – a breakthrough into three-dimensional life. The inner self, therefore, individually and en masse, sends its psychic energy out, forming tentacles that coalesce into form.
Humans exist within a 3-D matrix. Envision the matrix as a three dimensional spider’s web stretching infinitely in all directions. This spider’s web is a literal highway for transportation. All that you see around you enters and exits your life via this matrix highway. This happens because you are a magnetic vortex. Your emotions create a magnetic field around you that simultaneously draws and repels life’s experiences.
So there it is: my theory, with backup from the Giants, on how matter is created.
We don’t need to be shown how to do it – we already ARE. If we look around and love the world we’ve made for ourselves, we have no more to do. If, on the other hand, there are aspects we are not happy with… Well there’s no point in blaming others or fate or life. We are all that. We simply need to, as Will suggested, become ‘experienced and sufficiently enlightened’ to harness the energy and what we create. Then, Tesla says,
…old worlds would vanish and new ones would spring into being.
I hadn’t meant to clamber back up here – I’m not actually that good with heights – but a whole crowd more giants just came along and I can’t resist. The view from this lofty location is amazing!
I’ll start aloft the shoulders of John Milton. I first encountered him when I was about 15: Paradise Lost, book something-or-the-other as an exam text. Wild, rambling, epic 17th century poem! I kind of forgave Milton for being a harsh, narrow-minded religious fundamentalist who bullied his daughters when I started to dig below the surface of his work. For a start, his Adam was an insufferable prude, while Eve was as wet as washday. Satan, on the other hand, was deliciously complex and rather likeable. I decided that Milton, like many of his contemporaries who had survived Civil War torn England and its dangerous aftermath, had a public face and a private mind. What clinched it for me though was when I decided to read the rest of Paradise Lost – the bit our teacher said we needn’t bother with.
Satan on his way to bring about the downfall of Adam. Gustave Doré’s illustration for Paradise Lost by John Milton.
The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension; where length, breadth, and height,
And time, and place, are lost; where eldest night
And chaos, ancestors of nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.
For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce,
Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring
Their embryon atoms
That description of ‘outer space’, with all its seething, pulsing energy filled me with excitement. It was so different to the sterile void of which our science teachers sought to convince us. I decided this was the universe I preferred to inhabit – one where anything and everything could happen.
And so the scene was set. I had my raw material. All I needed now was to understand the process by which order could be imposed on the seething ether and those ’embrion atoms’ which held the potential to bring forth our cosmos.
A short pause while I wobble unsteadily and clamber onto the rather suave shoulders of Nikola Tesla. His mind had been running along similar lines, but in an intellectual sphere way beyond my own. Look on his words (from the New York Times, 1908), ye Mighty, and tremble…
“According to an adopted theory, every ponderable atom is differentiated from a tenuous fluid, filling all space merely by spinning motion, as a whirl of water in a calm lake. By being set in movement this fluid, the ether, becomes gross matter. Its movement arrested, the primary substance reverts to its normal state. It appears, then, possible for man through harnessed energy of the medium and suitable agencies for starting and stopping ether whirls to cause matter to form and disappear. At his command, almost without effort on his part, old worlds would vanish and new ones would spring into being.”
Right. So that gives me the process. Next I need to locate the ‘suitable agencies’ Tesla speaks of. I’m drawn to some words from my gigantic friend William’s recently published book. He makes an astounding claim which seems eerily close to Tesla’s, though coming from an unexpected direction:
An experienced and sufficiently enlightened user could use a pair of dowsing rods to achieve anything one desires. The rods can harness power from crystals and ley lines as well as any other energy source including pure psychic energy. The rods can alter the subatomic structure of the universe. They can provide interaction with different dimensions. They can provide the user with unlimited knowledge. They can alter events occurring all around the universe. If a user has accumulated enough experience and skill with dowsing rods they could have influence over all of space and time.
Now two of my giants are promising limitless creative experience if this energy is harnessed by an ‘experienced and sufficiently enlightened user’. There always seems to be a catch, doesn’t there?
Perhaps I need some hard scientific credentials here, so I’ll crawl across to the sturdy shoulders of Max Planck – just about the most solid and respectable theoretical physicist you could hope to find. (I was in the same form at school as his great-nephew, as it happens. It was bizarre – a little like finding yourself in the same class as Harry Potter on your first day at Hogwarts. None of us could understand why the classroom door kept swinging open during our first week, as members of the teaching staff would poke their heads around it and hiss at our form tutor, “Which one is he? Just had to take a look.”)
Anyhow, what does Herr Planck have to say on the matter of atoms and their creation? He wrote this in Florence, in 1944, a few years before his death:
As a man who has devoted his whole life to the most clear headed science, to the study of matter, I can tell you as a result of my research about atoms this much: There is no matter as such. All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force which brings the particle of an atom to vibration and holds this most minute solar system of the atom together. We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent mind. This mind is the matrix of all matter.
Ah. So we are closer still. Imposed upon our seething mass of ether is a matrix – one which is conscious and intelligent. Is this Consciousness some supreme creator or does it, potentially at least, emanate from ourselves? Those who have read my book will know that I consider the two to be one and the same, at different fractal scales. Just as Planck’s atoms are fractal solar systems, so are we fractal Source/All That Is. It is consciousness which is the missing component in Milton’s chaotic ether. It is consciousness which begins Tesla’s spinning motion or wields Will’s dowsing rods.
These ideas are familiar – astonishingly so. They have been bombarding my mind via other sources for several weeks now. Everywhere I look or listen, it seems, the revelations of my giants have echoes.
Has Atxero (for example) been clambering around atop these same giants, I wonder, or are we simply accessing the same ‘knowing’ within our all-seeing matrix? In her latest, amazing blog post she speaks of
…an invisible energy moving through the universe in the wake of which everything comes into existence and everything spirals around onward … If we consider that that invisible energy is Consciousness (like, mother of all consciousness) that is also an intention set in motion … so lets say the mind of the Universe had the urge to create something and in wake of this urge the Universe was created. (I am considering the Universe to be alive, complete with the soul and mind and body and the whole package, where each of the existing material bodies as even planets, galaxies or human bodies … just like we have cells in our body). That that invisible energy is the life force of the Universe.
So how, exactly, do we control it? I hear you ask. How do we spin that ether and create in the way your giants have promised we can?
I think I have the answer. I need to consider for a few days more, though, to sort the ideas into words. So forgive me for leaving so suddenly. All the information we need is here, but it’s been hiding in the one place scientists would never think of looking.
Quick trawl through the internet to find the derivation of that idea:
Coat of arms of Sir Isaac Newton
Well Isaac Newton, yes. I knew that one. With typical modesty he wrote of his work to Robert Hooke in 1676, saying, “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.”
Not original though. Newton apparently found the metaphor in the writings of one John of Salisbury – a twelfth century author and theologian who rose from Anglo Saxon roots (not easy in Norman-dominated England in the early 1100’s) to become Bishop of Chartres.
Impressive.
Still not original, though, for John was quoting Bernard, a colleague of his at Chartres, who was the chancellor of the cathedral school there in 1124.
Chartres Cathedral(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Here, via John, via Wikipedia, is Bernard’s idea:
Bernard of Chartres used to say that we [the Moderns] are like dwarves perched on the shoulders of giants [the Ancients], and thus we are able to see more and farther than the latter. And this is not at all because of the acuteness of our sight or the stature of our body, but because we are carried aloft and elevated by the magnitude of the giants.
At this point I could easily waffle off into an appreciation of said Bernard. Hadn’t come across him before, but I was rather taken by some of his philosophical ideas. I’ll resist the urge for now, though. I want to get back to those giants.
Let me start by making it plain that the ones Bernard was referring to were almost certainly classical philosophers – Neo-Platonists by the look of it. The ‘magnitude’ he spoke of was intellectual rather than physical.
The giants I’d like to meet have left a more cryptic legacy. Sadly, Wikipedia won’t be able to help me to reach them.
Popular culture has two very different views of our far-distant ancestors. Firstly there is ‘Stone Age Man’ – and Woman, obviously. Anthropologists will lead us back through fossilised bones, carefully carbon-dated, belonging to African ancestors clutching lumps of stone and animal bone, and beyond them back to tree-dwelling ape-like beings. Wind the clock back still further and our ancestors are seen crawling from the seas and originating in a potent slime on a planet poised to bring forth life.
The second concept of the Ancients, though, is as different from the above as could be imagined. Instead of our modern, technologically advanced society being viewed as the pinnacle of an evolutionary process, we look back to the Giants – the ancestors who held knowledge and yes, even technology which would put ours to shame.
They could be another, now-extinct species whose flowering ceased in one of those cataclysms caused by comets, say, or volcanoes, leaving only tantalising remnants – physical giants with huge bones or strangely elongated skulls, hidden away in museum vaults by those who fear spoiling the story.
Perhaps they are our own ancestors – people like us who evolved to reach a golden age in Mu or Atlantis before sinking, almost without trace…
They could be incomers from other stars, other dimensions: the gods perhaps – worshipped and depicted by our ancestors as they swooped down from high Olympus or interstellar craft to intervene in human affairs and perhaps human genetics before flying off and leaving us to find our own paths. I have to admit to a personal preference for this story. It seems to fit, and channelled sources are supporting it. See, for example, this comment in answer to a recent query I put to the Guides who wish to be known as Higgins in Cheryl Jensen’s Ask Higgins blog:
There was a time when the race that created mankind lived alongside you and they taught your predecessors how to utilize the positive and negative energy of the Earth’s magnetic field
Whoever they were, their presence in our folk memory and mythology is persistent. They are a very real part of our heritage.
We stand on their shoulders – you and I, Isaac, John, Bernard, his Greek philosophers and whoever inspired them… Do we see further than they did, or are we elevating ourselves too high?
Should we climb down and search more carefully amongst the clues they left for us – the carvings and structures, folk tales and mythology, or trust that access to their knowledge lies within us all, if only we have the confidence to reach for it?
So now I had the Light Self vibrating into these different frequencies – very high vibrations up at the purple end and lower ones down at the red part. Could that, I wondered, be where we get the idea of the subtle bodies from – the ones nested inside each other like rainbow-coloured Russian dolls? Was that what the chakras were – aspects of our shining Light, stepped down so that we could spend a while experiencing physical life on this planet?
And just a few weeks back, 
Looking at Life 