Vitruvian Lines – Part 8: A Couple of Awkward Questions

You’ve all been so patient with me as I’ve stumbled through my attempt to unravel autistic and non-autistic thinking.  Throughout this whole series of articles, I’ve been characterising the circle-fillers or neuro-typical population as straight-jacketed by a socialisation/maturation process which defines and confines their access to the unlimited levels of consciousness that were their birth right, while suggesting that society contains others – square-fillers, autists, outliers, so-called dysfunctional or disordered individuals or whatever we wish to call the neuro-A-typical people – who, to varying degrees, manage to retain close links to wider areas of the holistic consciousness field.   There is truth in there somewhere, I believe, but it remains a vast over-simplification.

In the interests of authenticity, I must pose a couple of awkward  and contentious questions that threaten to blow my whole theory apart before continuing.

Train, Transport, Railway Line, TravelAwkward Question 1: Why, given the avenues of Knowing available to them, do so many high-functioning autists end up as train spotters, bus timetable fanatics or computer gamers, huddled in their bedrooms pursuing apparently pointless hobbies, limited by crippling ritual behaviour patterns and presenting a somewhat pompous yet highly defensive face to the rest of humanity?   Surely that can’t all be down to problems with social skills?  Why are there so many of them who are not finding some valuable and world-changing outlet for these untapped creative and cognitive abilities?  Why, in short, do we not have more Leonardos, more Teslas, more Einsteins?

 

Awkward Question 2: Why are there  many members of the NT population who demonstrate behaviour and awareness that appears, to some degree, to mirror those of A-thinking?

Penguin Coordination Synchronization JackaLet me take synchronicity as an example.  Synchronicity, according to the standard conventional Western world view, shouldn’t be able to happen.  It is non-logical.  It implies a connection between past, future and present events, individuals and experiences which could only work for those who are open enough to the wider Consciousness Field to be able to process this information.  Certainly there are people who do not accept it and who dismiss synchronistic events as coincidence.  There are others, though – myself included – who not only believe implicitly in synchronicity, but who find that the more open they are to its existence, the more frequently and powerfully it occurs in their lives.

Not so long ago, my Aspie friend Will sent me the following message:

“I am very interested to hear about any examples of or information you have on what’s known as synchronicity. I don’t mean to imply anything negative towards you but I suspect my awareness of it is greater than yours. I also wonder quite how powerful a force synchronicity actually is.”

That gave me another light bulb moment.  He was absolutely right.  For people with autistic perception, synchronicity must be an entirely natural and hugely powerful force.  They are, after all, able to draw on the Akashic Field/ Holographic Consciousness/ All That Is.  The rest of us are not.  So how are some neuro-typical people managing to do so, albeit to a more limited degree?

That set me thinking.  What if there were some method by which ‘circle-fillers’ could go some way towards accessing greater areas of Consciousness?  It could be similar to what some autists do when they learn social communication skills as a ‘second language’.  The neuro-typicals would always be at a disadvantage.  We would be struggling to figure out the meaning of information and frustrated that no matter how hard we worked, we would never reach the levels of subtlety, awareness and power that come naturally to those with autistic perception.  Nevertheless, by working very diligently and listening closely to what those with wider links to Knowing have told us, some of us seem to be what might be termed ‘high functioning neuro-typicals’; we try to reach into the square-fillers’ world, just as some of them try to reach into ours.

I was recently told by Higgins, in a personal message, that although I would never be able to completely grasp or explain the non-physical, “you are well able to understand enough of the information you are receiving to get the basics, in the way that you may not be fluent in a language but understand enough to get the gist of the conversation.”

All I needed, then, was to find some process by which these two questions could be resolved:

1) What is it that limits many of those with autistic perception from reaching their apparently limitless potential?

2) How is it that many of those who have developed as neuro-typical are able to access certain areas of non-logical thought?

My intuition was that the two were connected.  I ‘put out’ for the answer, knowing – Knowing, indeed – that it was out there somewhere.  I then waited for synchronicity to drop it into my path.

In my next post I’ll share my discoveries with you, but meanwhile, feel free to offer any insights you may have.

 

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The Vitruvian Lines – Introduction

Da Vinci Vitruve Luc Viatour.jpg

Vitruvian Man by Leonardo Da Vinci

Here it is, finally.  Thank you, friends, for your patience.

This is my best attempt to answer the questions implied in an article my friend and confidant Will
wrote a while ago.  Some parts of what follows have already appeared in various blog posts I have written, however there is also much new information and it ideally needs to be read as a whole.

Because of its length, I’ll be serialising these ‘lines’ in my blog for many weeks to come. I personally find blog posts over 800 or so words hard to read, as I like to ‘dip into’ them and I’ve noticed I get more ‘hits’ on my shorter articles, so I assume others are like me in that respect.

Why Vitruvian?

Because the main thrust of these lines concerns the relationship between two different populations currently inhabiting our planet – those commonly described as ‘neurotypical’ (or, more chauvinistically, ‘normal’) and those who are often labelled as highly sensitive, disordered or possessing some form of dysfunction which renders them atypical – I wanted to find a neutral way of describing the two groups.  I adhere to my principle of refusing to refer to people on the autistic spectrum as ‘disordered’.  I refer to them as ‘people with autistic perception’ or ‘autists’, sometimes separating out those at the highest cognitive levels as Asperger’s (a term no longer current in medical and psychological circles, but still in common use) or ‘high-functioning autists’.   However Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man provides an interesting way to differentiate between the populations.

As you can see from the drawing, the physical human body will fit either into the square or the circle, but not both.  Of course, those divisions only exist in a geometrical sense, as does, for example, the equator.  For me, though, they will provide a useful analogy for the groups I want to discuss.  I will therefore describe the ‘neurotypical’ population as Circle Fillers and the ‘neuro-atypical’ group as Square Fillers.   Why that way round?  There is a reason, hidden in the geometry, which I’ll come to in a future section, but for now, perhaps the metaphor of square pegs having difficulty fitting into round holes will suffice to allow you to differentiate between them.

The Inspiration

“Autistic people are capable of communicating and socialising. They have a naturally different method of accomplishing this. 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 them properly. I suspect at some point this will be achieved and hopefully will allow autism to be harnessed to its full potential and remedy the blindness of so many.”

William Bales 2016

There is nothing I enjoy more than a good puzzle – especially one that could benefit everyone if it were solved.  The comments Will made there ticked all those boxes and more for me and I have been working away at uncovering the answer ever since he wrote them.  Some of that work has been conscious, some has been more-or-less subliminal; I’ve simply set my ‘self’ the task and waited to see what it comes up with and what synchronicities appear as a result.

Obviously, because I set the framework for solving the puzzle up in that way, the various pieces of information and insight have appeared in non-linear fashion, so are quite challenging to collate as continuous text.  I’ve set out the different strands under sub-headings, then attempted to draw them together at the end.

In my next post, I will begin to explain The Vitruvian Lines in terms of the structure of society.

Making Peace with the Enemy

Poppy, Flower, Red Poppy, Blossom, BloomNot sure what prompted this – maybe all the poppies and remembrance day events, standing in an entire city brought to silence on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour…

Anyway, this story is about another war – one that raged inside my father until almost the end of his life.

Tony was a young man in his twenties when the Second World War broke out.  He joined the RAF.  He serviced planes and was posted to some little island in the Far East – some little island that the Japanese army overran.  He became a prisoner of war.

I don’t know much about the details of his detainment.  He wouldn’t speak of the worst things to any of us.  I know he saw all his close friends die.  I know the camp staff would open sacks of mail, read out the names of the recipients, wave the envelopes before them, then toss them on the fire.  I know he grubbed in the ground for peanuts to add to the meagre rations of rice they had.  I know when he came home he looked more skeleton than man.  That was where his war began.

It raged throughout my whole childhood.  He was a sweet, kind, generous man as a rule, but if that button was pressed, heaven help anyone nearby.  The fury was astonishing.  Nothing made in Japan was allowed in our house.  Any passing reference to the country on TV or radio was instantly turned off, amidst angry mutterings.  When a neighbour mistakenly referred to my best friend (Chinese) as ‘that little Japanese girl she plays with’ they were shocked by the fury unleashed in Dad.

In my teens (oh, the foolhardiness of youth) I took him on one day.  I tried, calmly and reasonably, to point out that one couldn’t hold an entire nation responsible for the behaviour of a single group of sadistic prison guards.  I pointed out that a whole generation of Japanese had not even been alive during the war.  My mother and younger brother cowered in the corner as he lashed me verbally – and very nearly physically.  I came close to being disowned by him that day.  It took weeks to reestablish a relationship with him and I didn’t try to raise the subject again.

Many years passed.  Dad’s war continued unabated.  He reached retirement, moved to a new area – Glastonbury – and developed the closest friendship he’d had since I’d known him, with a man of similar age.  This man was sweet, wise and gentle.  He invited Dad to visit his home regularly and taught him all about his new area,  He told him legends.  He showed him the wonders of ley lines on maps and walked them with him.  He taught him about Bligh Bond and Wesley Tudor Pole and the heritage of Avalon.  Every time I visited, Dad couldn’t wait to share his new discoveries with me.  It was beautiful to see – like a flower, so long in the bud, finally unfurling.  He was happier and more peaceful than I’d ever known him.

This friend, though, had one further gift for Dad – the greatest of all.

“Tony,” he said one day, “There’s going to be a change in this house.  We’re going to be taking a young lodger.”

He went on to explain, very gently and patiently, that he and his wife had some dear friends abroad – people they’d known for many years.  This couple had a daughter who was very keen to visit England and work here.  Her English was good, but the culture would be very different to what she was used to.  Her parents were worried and had asked if their English friends would take her into their home.  Willingly, they had agreed.

“Well of course,” Dad said.  “I’d have done the same.  Good for you.”

“Yes,” his friend smiled, rather sadly, “But I don’t want this change to drive a wedge between our friendship, Tony.  I value your companionship very deeply and I very much want you to continue to visit our house and spend time with me as usual.”

“Well of course-” Dad spluttered, but his friend interrupted him.

“The young lady is Japanese, Tony.”

 

Girl, Asia, People, Happy, Young, SummerIt took more bravery than he had ever showed for Tony to make that choice.  He, too, valued this friendship and determined, despite all, to continue visiting his dear friend.

I wasn’t there to see how the visits went.  Perhaps he was cold and reserved towards the girl at first.  Perhaps he ignored her.  He was battling an entire lifetime of bitterness and hurt.  All I know it that on my next visit, he described the young lady to me in the most glowing terms.  He praised her gentle, sweet nature, her grace and charm, her kindness towards him, and he shook his head wonderingly.

I hugged him and felt such overwhelming gratitude towards the Universe – and his wise friend – for providing him with this wonderful opportunity to lay down his arms and finally experience peace.

 

Talisman

I have a friend, here in Glastonbury, who we’ll call Mark.  He’s a talented wood carver and one of the most generous people I know.  Every time we meet, he has some lovely trinket or other which he wants to give me.  Apparently he does it for all his friends.  He comes into the story later, but I had to put him there before I started.

Now for the story.

Glastonbury, England, MonumentThere’s a lovely lady I met several years ago at a conference.  She’s a spiritual seeker, a lover of trees and nature and a very caring, sensitive person.  She adores Glastonbury, and despite living in a city in Switzerland, she comes here for short visits whenever she can.  We always meet up when she’s here, usually in town for a meal, but this time I felt a strong urge to invite her to my home.  I never question such feelings any more – just act on them.

She only had two days to spend here this time and she’d spent the first hunting for a special object that would remind her of Glastonbury and embody the spirit of the place for her when she was far off in her own country.
“It could be anything,” she said. “Maybe I’ll find it in a charity shop. Maybe it will be just a stick or something simple.”

She showed me an egg-shaped stone she had bought, carved from local crystal.  I could tell that, much as she liked it, she wasn’t convinced that this was the special object she had come to find.  Now she had a dilemma.  Should she spend the next day – her last – hunting for The Object or should she relax and enjoy the delights of Glastonbury while she could?

Pendulum, Commute, Energy, Vibration“Would you…  I feel bad for asking, but could you ask your Guide?” she asked.

Then I knew why I’d needed to invite her here.  She’s had advice from, Koimul, my spirit guide before.  I opened the computer and asked Koimul if it would be possible to seek advice for her.  Koimul said it would.

I typed:

“Did she find the object that will allow her to remember Glastonbury when she is at home, or should she search for it tomorrow?”

Sometimes the responses I receive come ‘out of the blue’.  Sometimes I can feel them – or snatches of them – just before the pendulum spells out the replies.  I certainly knew what the first part of Koimul’s reply would be before it came.  I also knew that it wouldn’t satisfy my friend.

MUCH OF GLASTONBURY LIVES IN HER HEART

It was true.  We all carry the essence of the places we love within ourselves and can draw on feelings and memories whenever we wish to.  In my mind – because I knew my friend wanted more – I asked for advice on an object.  Koimul was ahead of me, though.  Without pausing, the message continued and I became aware of the word ‘talisman’.  It was a perfect way to describe what she sought.

Slowly, as the crystal wheeled around the keyboard, I realised what was coming.  I started to laugh with utter delight.  My wise guide had the perfect solution!  The words that were spelled out said:

BUT IF SHE WANTS A TALISMAN IT WILL BE GOOD TO GIVE HER THE RUNE

This is where ‘Mark’ re-enters the story.  Once, he and I had been discussing Dion Fortune – a writer and occultist who had lived in Glastonbury early in the last century.  He told me he had recently been asked to cut down an overhanging branch from a yew tree which had been in Dion’s former garden, just along the road from my cottage.  He had, he said, used every scrap of this very special wood to make a wonderful set of runes and other items, because he felt that something of her presence remained in it.  He had given me a tiny pendant, carved from a fragment of the branch and hung from a leather thong. It bore the symbol for the letter I in Ogham, as well as the word for ‘yew tree’.

The strange thing is that although it had been given to me and was a lovely object, I had never felt it was mine.  I’d worn it once or twice, but always I felt uncomfortable – as if I had no right to this, and it was meant for someone else.

Koimul’s message made perfect sense to me.  This little pendant (she’d said it might be a stick!) encompassed all that my friend loved about Glastonbury.  I rushed upstairs to find it, hurriedly told her its background and joyfully handed it to its rightful owner.

When she had stopped crying, she slipped it over her head and it looked perfect.  It belonged with her.  There was just enough light left in the evening sky for me to take her down the road and show her the tree it had come from.

Another reminder of how magical life can be when we let go and allow it to gently unfold.

 

 

Syncing without Trace, but Czeching

I wish I could trace them – the tracks of my synchronicities.

Sometimes they feel like cross-hairs gradually coming together, to home in on the target, but it’s far more complex than that.  There are many strands and they cross and recross, ricocheting off one another in an apparently random mess, until gradually and subtly they begin building up a pattern.  Finally, with no clear idea how I got here, I find myself standing at the centre of an amazing piece of sacred geometry and the whole thing is laid out clearly for me to see, like those transit patterns the planets make with each other.

(Is that how astrology fits in?  Is it sacred geometry working out at a macro level??  Maybe Pluto or Uranus are not ‘influencing’ us – they’re just making the patterns of the synchronicity working through our lives visible.  Sorry: digression.)

So once I’ve had the ‘Aha!’ moment, I can try to work back to how I got there.  What was it that pushed me to open this file or buy that book?  I think – if I were the kind of person who could create such things – a diagram or flow chart would work better.  Alas, all I have at my disposal are strings of words, so they must suffice.  The process is not linear, but this attempt to unravel it will be, since that’s the way writing works.

  • Phone, Communication, ConnectionI publish a post on here which includes this image.
  • Someone comments on it and directs me to an interview with Stan Grof.
  • I become intrigued and read a book referred to in the interview.  At this point the lines of synchronicity are shooting off in multiple directions; one even points at synchronicity!
  • Grof intrigues me and, like my grandfather, he is a Czech emigrant.
  • The book tells of psychiatric regressions, with patients picking up ancestral stories from their bloodline, which were later authenticated.
  • In a quite different part of my life, I am buying a piece of Moldavite for a friend’s birthday.  I don’t know why.  I simply have a very strong feeling that this person needs Moldavite, now.
  • Intrigued again (being intrigued is a very strong indicator for synchronicities at work, I’ve found) I begin researching Moldavite.  I discover it comes from the site of a meteor impact, many centuries ago, and is only found at this one place on Earth –  in The Czech Republic.  ‘There it is again,’ I think. (Repetition/dêja vu is another indicator of synchronicity.)
  • While I’m musing on that, I start exploring that country, trying one more time to locate the village my grandfather came from.  I’ve tried on many occasions.  I knew its name from the postmarks in his stamp collection, which I inherited, but the German language forms of many border towns’ names were eradicated after WWII and I didn’t know the Czech equivalent.
  • This time, though, I find it.  I’m delighted and make a mental note to explore some more when I have time.
  • After an exhausting and rather frustrating day, I decide to have a quiet evening watching TV.  I select a film called The Secret Life of Bees, a rather sugary tale of life, death and the civil rights struggles in the American deep south in the sixties.
  • Incomprehensibly, I find myself weeping uncontrollably throughout the entire movie.  I’m identifying so strongly with every aspect of the story line and characters.  It feels personal.  It feels as if I’ve been there and experienced that and the pain is still unbearably raw.  Yet I haven’t.
  • By the end of the film, I’m a red-eyed, snivelling wreck, with a mountain of soggy tissues beside me.  ‘It’s just been a hard day,’  I tell myself.  I need to go and do something enjoyable.
  • I head for the computer and go back to researching the Czech connection.
  • I find the village my grandfather came from on Google Map.  I wander through its streets and peer across the mountains he grew up in.  I even find the post office where my ancestral relatives sent the letters whose stamps now lie, old and yellowing, in his album.
  • I read other sites, with histories of the area.  They tell how this once prosperous mining town, with rich seams of silver and agate crystals was ravaged by the Thirty Years War, fell into decline, was subsumed by the Austro-Hungarian empire and the native Bohemians persecuted and viciously suppressed.  This continued for decades.  The young men faced compulsory 10 year military service in their oppressors’ army.
  • So that was why my grandfather fled to England!  He died when I was a young child.  My father was embarrassed to talk about his origins while I was growing up.  Bohemia had become part of Czechoslovakia by then and was part of the feared Eastern Bloc during those Cold War days, so Dad pretended he came from Austria.
  • Finally, I feel I understand my heritage.  I know why the Bees film affected me so deeply.  I accept that ancestral memory still travels through my consciousness.  I see why dissolving prejudice has been such a huge part of my life.
  • I turn away from the computer – and stare straight into the eyes of my grandfather, whose pastel portrait hangs on the living room wall.  I pass it a hundred times a day, but at this point I really see it.
  • And he is smiling slightly.

A Flock of Clockwork Birds

Nothing deep this week – just a simple story, which happens to be true…

‘Flock of singing bird mechanisms, job lot’ said the advert.  And it had me – a bird in the hand…

I called the vendor, who – it transpired – lived less than a mile from my cottage.

“Yes,” he said. “Brass and steel.  Clockwork.  They have tiny bellows and a little brass whistle.  When you wind the key, the bird warbles and twists around.  My father had them, long ago.  Mother found them when she was turning out – asked me to find a home for them.  The sort of thing popular with Victorians, in little gilt cages, you know?  Could you use them?”

“Yes,” I said, not daring to pause for breath.

“How?” I wondered.

I could afford the price.  It seemed most reasonable for such treasures.  Real clockwork mechanisms – they are disappearing from our world like smoke.  No batteries.  No USB connectors.  Just brass and steel, cog and cam, key and spring.  I have loved clockwork, automatons and all such things ever since, as a toddler, I ripped my cardboard musical box apart to find where the sounds came from, and sat entranced as I watched the shining beauty of its mechanical perfection.

With no plan in mind, I simply knew I had to have the flock.  Perhaps the birds would sing to me and tell me how to bring them back to life.

At three o’clock I was led to the vendor’s garage.  A faded, mouse-gnawed, cardboard box was pulled out for my inspection.  Twelve little packages, each wrapped in yellowing tissue paper lay there.  He unwrapped one and placed the dainty mechanism in the palm of my hand.  Springs and cams glinted slightly in the dim light.

“Needs a key,” he said.  A second box was brought out, filled with hundreds of tiny folded waxed paper envelopes.  Why did he have that many?  He pulled one open.  I glimpsed fragments of wire and brass and plastic inside, and a shining brass key.

“Turns this way,” he said. “Counter-clockwise.  Left-handed.”

Like me.

He screwed the key into the mechanism and turned.  Nothing.  He twisted the device around, searching his memory, muttering to himself, “Must need oiling.  Not been touched in years.  How do they start?”

Then his hand knocked the fly wheel.  It began to turn.  A few slow revolutions, then it spun as smoothly as it ever had.  The bellows moved up and down like some tiny creature’s beating heart, and the warbling began.   On and on it trilled and I watched and listened, thanking the inexplicable impulse that had nudged me into answering his advert.

Next a box of birds (“All hand painted, you know.”) was passed to me for inspection.  Two hundred?  Maybe three?  Some in shades of blue, some gold.  I must have gasped at the quantity.

“Oh, you’ll be amazed when you see how many you’ve got here,” he told me.

Sure enough, as he lifted box after box, I saw an endless mass of the clockwork devices.  Enough for every key and every bird.

“No idea why my father had them,” he said.  “Obviously he was planning to do something with them and they got forgotten.  Just been stuck in an attic ever since.  You sure you can find a use for them?”

“Definitely,” I said, wondering how and when and what.

I’d happily have paid his price for the original twelve, but here I am with dirty, dusty box after dirty, dusty box of the tiny wonders, now stashed in my coal-store and waiting, waiting not so much longer now, maybe, to be released – to sing and twirl and entertain as they always intended to.

Stone on Stone

Image result for John Aubrey

John Aubrey, courtesy of Wiki

I have ‘Rosie’ (author of the brilliant La Tour Abolie site) to thank for introducing me to Ruth Scurr’s wonderful biography of John Aubrey.  It is, as Philip Pullman says on the cover, ‘Irresistible’.  I’m quite certain that if we hadn’t inconveniently lived 350 years apart, Mr Aubrey and myself would have found many common interests to converse about.

We share – across time – a keen interest in antiquities.  His discovery of the Aubrey holes at Stonehenge, his insistence that this structure was NOT a council chamber built by the Danes but dated back much further and his devotion to preserving what was left of Avebury before local residents could demolish any more of it to build their homes and walls are well known.  His jottings, meticulously collected and compiled by Scurr, though, tell so much more of this indefatigable gentleman.

He was not a meticulous diarist like Pepys.  He charted the English civil war, the rule of Cromwell, the Great Fire of London and other major events almost in passing.  There is a brief account of the Restoration of King Charles II, for example, but at that time, Aubrey had something more pressing on his mind.

In March 1660, you see, he acquired a ring containing ‘a curious Turkey, or turquoise stone’.  This stone fascinates him for years.  When the ring breaks, he decides not to have the stone remounted, in case the heat should cause damage to the crystal.  Why the fascination?  Well this is where the story – and time itself – become rather fuzzy…

As synchronicity would have it, I too acquired a curious crystal – in March of this year.  It’s the one I found mysteriously sitting on a path in my garden.  Three hundred and fifty-seven years apart, both Mr Aubrey and myself found ourselves pondering our respective stones with much interest and surprise.  We both noticed that areas of the stones which had been cloudy became inexplicably clear, while other areas clouded.  Our ponderings continued independently of each other until I reached the point in the book where he had made this discovery: a day or two after mine appeared.

Strange, I thought.

In the July, Aubrey records:

My turquoise ring has changed again.  Now the cloudy spot in the north of the ring has vanished entirely and the one in the south has lessened.

By October:

(It) has become cloudy again in the north and a little speck has appeared in the middle.

The following February he finds a halo has formed around the northern cloudy spot and determines to take it to Mr Robert Boyle, no less, who has an interest in ‘movement within stones’.  Sadly, there does not seem to be an account of this meeting, if it ever took place.  I’d love to have known Mr Boyle’s opinion.

So now, not only did I have my own curious stone to watch and contemplate, but Mr Aubrey’s turquoise to consider as well.  How could these solid objects go through such obvious changes?  Were we imagining it?  Was it simply dependent upon the light in which we viewed our respective stones?  And if it WAS happening… why?

Bubbles!

Then, last Friday morning, I woke to find the most amazing transformation in my stone.  There is a face, roughly the shape of a parallelogram, which had been a diffuse, swirling, misty purple.  Overnight, though, it had transformed to contain countless tiny, and very clear, bubbles.  Almost all of them contained a central tiny circle or dot, several of these being a deep red colour.  Some seemed near the surface while other appeared as if deep under water.  It resembled a clump of frogspawn, and gave me the distinct but illogical sense of new life forming.

It continues to change.  The ‘bubbles’ are still visible, but are gradually fading into the mists again.  I wonder what its next trick will be.

At the weekend I asked my friend Will to try a remote viewing of the crystal, asking him to search within it and hunt for impressions beyond the physical.  As he focused on it, he didn’t see the stone at all, but gained some clear impressions of shapes, colours and a landscape – a vast desert with hills or mountains in the far distance.  He also commented that time, and especially the future, felt relevant.

So what do you make of all that, dear reader?  Comments would be most welcome.

I’ve long felt that the distinction between living and non-living is wrong.  I subscribe to Seth’s view that all matter contains consciousness.  When I consider the enormous discoveries made by the late Masaru Emoto about memory in water, I wonder if we are on the brink of discovering similar properties in crystal.

How I wish I could chat this through with Mr Aubrey.  But then, who is to say I’m not doing so already, at some level of consciousness?  After all, I’m unable to account for how this pristine crystal appeared in the middle of my garden.  Maybe it was sent to me, or left by a passing etheric gentleman on horseback…

 

 

Meant to Be

wp_20161014_13_31_43_proLife throws up challenges every so often.  You’d noticed, obviously.  How we deal with those challenges is what matters, though.  Today I want to tell you a story of someone who dealt with his in the best way.

The final straw was when the meat safe broke.  My son was a chef there.  He went to management to check that they were happy for him to throw the meat out.  They said no.  They said it would be fine as long as everyone kept the door shut as much as possible.  He protested.  He wasn’t prepared to serve the customers meat that hadn’t been stored at the correct temperature.  There had been a few such battles, with him arguing for quality and them for profit.  Tempers were frayed.  They ordered him to carry on using the meat.  He quit.

So there he was, suddenly, out of work.  His partner was having to pick up all the bills, he wasn’t having any luck finding other jobs.  Things seemed bad.  This was a challenge.

On a bright spring morning, we set out together.  I’d arrived to stay for a few days and he’d offered to show me around the town they’d fairly recently moved to.  To both of us, it felt that something good was about to happen.

“Would you like to see the museum?” he asked.  “It’s pretty good.”

Obviously we’d been chatting about work and the sort of things he could turn his hand to, but it wasn’t until he paused in that museum and stared in pure delight at a gorgeously detailed model of an old city gate from the Middle Ages, complete with carts and horses, market stalls and all manner of tiny details, that the germ of a plan began to form.

“That’s what I’d really love to do,” he said, longingly.  “I bet there’s only one or two people in the whole country who are commissioned to make those models, but wouldn’t it be a fantastic job?”

I laughed.  “That’s exactly what I always wanted to do, when I was a kid,” I told him.  “Yes, that would be the perfect job for you.”

So that’s how it begins, isn’t it?  We put the idea out there.  We coat it generously with positive wishes and intention.  Then we wait for the Universe to start swinging into action.  The Law of Attraction may sound a bit of a New Age cliché, but it works…

“Not sure where else to show you,” he said, as we came out of the museum and rain started to fall.  “Oh, that building over there has just been converted into little workshops and craft outlets.  Do you want to take a look?”

We went inside.

“There’s not much on the ground floor yet,” he told me.  “We’re probably better going upstairs.”

But I’d noticed a sign to a dolls’ house shop, and I’ve always loved dolls’ houses…

It was shut.  Reluctantly, I turned away, but at that very moment the owner arrived and opened the door.  The tiny shop was crammed with all manner of miniatures and both of us were entranced.  We were the only customers, so a chat to the owner was almost inevitable.  We told him how we loved the things he’d made himself.  We asked about who his suppliers were and how he found them.  We explained my son’s predicament and I spoke of his talent for creating tiny models.

“Go to trade fairs,” he said, shortly.  “Talk to stallholders.  Find what they’re not making and do it.”

We thanked him and continued looking around.  Eventually I chose a few minuscule treasures to take home.  As I went to pay, the owner said, “Been thinking.  Steampunk.  No one’s doing that.  It would sell.”

And so the Universe was starting to spill the beans.  Matt and I looked at each other.  Why not?

So that (in case you were wondering) is how my new hobby of making 1/12 size Steampunk figures came about.  Matt, meanwhile, set to work creating room settings for them, filled with cogs, chains and devious devices.  We toured the trade shows, scoured the internet and charity shops for interesting items to use and re-purpose.  He stocked up on wood, while I bought up a selection of little porcelain dolls, and a cottage industry was born.

Today our online shop went live.  A few of the figures are ready for sale.  My son is busy photographing and listing the rest of the items.

I know all will be well.  The synchronicities of that day made it inevitable that it would.  I’ve put a photo of one of his rooms at the top of this post, and various figures appear in the last post I wrote.

Oh, and if you’d care to visit the store, or know anyone else who would, here’s the link: https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/SteampunkDollsHouse?ref=hdr_shop_menu

 

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!