Trying to Re-Member

There’s a group I attend from time to time here in my town.  Each week they provide cups of every kind of herbal tea you can imagine, biscuits or cake, and a speaker.  The talks range over many areas and subjects, but they must always be positive.  That seems to be the only rule.

Abstract, Background, Pattern, ArtisticI’d never heard of that night’s speaker, but his subject was ‘The Eight Elements’ and partly because I’d been pondering on elements for quite a while and partly because he was speaking as a follower of Krishna – a Truth quite new to me – I decided to go along.

The gentleman stood calmly before us, looked around the room at the sea of faces and announced, with total certainty, “I’m not the only person in this room who has been to the breaking point.  I’m not alone in having reached a point in my life where everything I lived for, everything I believed, everything I cared about was swept away, leaving me lost, broken and utterly alone.”

All around the room, heads nodded slowly, solemnly, mine included.

The talk was excellent.  Krishna’s take on the elements was oddly familiar and linked in well with the Egyptian, Greek, Shamanic, Medieval and alchemical ideas I’d been reading and thinking about.  What I was left with above all, though, was that idea of the breaking point – the need to go through what feels at the time to be a crisis, a disaster, a destruction of all you’ve held dear.  It is the tower card in the tarot – the card I used to fear above all others, back in the days when my life was settled and sorted (although very far from perfect).

I thought of the many friends and family members I’ve seen hit that point, whether through a sudden incapacitating illness, a financial meltdown, a job loss, a relationship breakup or what’s commonly called a nervous breakdown.  Often – as in my own case – it’s a mixture of several of these.  Like the body of Osiris, we are broken up, hacked into pieces and scattered in the waters of Life.

Shell, Broken, Empty, Close, LeaveThere follows a time of the most awe-ful emptiness.  We shut down.  We exist from moment to moment, day to day, with no clear idea of how or why we are still functioning.  This is the time we need to hide away, to withdraw from everyone and everything, knowing at some instinctive level that we require peace, and that healing will eventually flow from this.

Despite the kindness and ministrations of others, there’s ultimately only one place that healing can come from.  It comes from within.  It comes from our soul-selves – the part of us that is, and has always been, whole and complete.  Slowly and painfully, we begin to re-member ourselves – to put ourselves back together.  This time, though, we will be different.  We will have shed the limiting beliefs that we are not complete without money/ health/ family/ possessions/ career/ home/ friends or whatever we relied upon for stability and identity in the past.  That’s not to say we won’t regain or rediscover some of these, but they will no longer take centre stage.

Now we will have re-membered who we truly are.  We will recognise that we are whole and complete in ourselves.  We are not – primarily – parent or employee, partner or owner.  We are infinite aspects of the great I AM and as such, we have no limits.

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore, trust the physician and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility.”

Kahlil Gibran: The Prophet

 

Dying to Understand

Fall, Autumn, Leaf, Brown, Green, Yellow“I hear Daisy has gone now,” I remarked to a friend.
Daisy was elderly and ill. She’d taken to her bed and had been refusing food for some time, so it wasn’t a surprise.
“Yes,” Ali replied, “and boy is she in for a shock!”
I looked up in surprise for a moment, then realised what she meant.
“You mean she didn’t believe there would be anything after life?”
“Exactly,” Ali smiled. “She was adamant that ‘she’ would die along with her body. End of. What must she be thinking now?”

Bison, Cave Of Altamira, Prehistoric ArtIt’s the third time recently that such an idea has been placed in my mind.  The first was when I read a highly praised and undeniably well-researched and well-argued book called The Mind in the Cave.  Its author, David Lewis-Williams, speaks eloquently and convincingly about the world view of our ancient ancestors – those who decorated caves and rocks with incredible images of animals, geometric shapes, figures who appear to be somewhere between animals and humans etc.  It’s a great book, but for me, there is one huge issue I’ll be bold enough to disagree on.  It’s what Professor Lewis-Williams terms ‘the brain/mind problem’.  Here’s the way he resolves it (and, I’d suggest, the reason a book that deals mainly with ‘altered states’ has been so well received in scientific circles):

Two things we do know are, one, that the brain/mind evolved, and two, that consciousness (as distinct from brain) is a notion, or sensation, created by electro-chemical activity in the ‘wiring’ of the brain.

Ngc 3603, Nebula, Space, StarsThe second was a recent BBC documentary following three ageing British astronomers on a journey to recapture some of the finest moments of their younger days, when they had held eminent positions in observatories in the US, in the post Sputnik race-for-space of the mid-twentieth century.  They were lovely guys and all had enjoyed happy and successful lives.  Now, though, one was terminally ill and the others were in, shall we say, the late autumn of their lives.  Unsurprisingly, as they trekked through the mountains, the discussion turned to death.  One, despite his scientific training, clung to the Christian faith.  He admitted he didn’t see much logic in it, but still felt comforted by the God he’d been brought up to believe in and the idea that there would be an afterlife.  He mused, rather sadly though, that there probably wasn’t any need for astronomers in Heaven.  His colleagues seemed to adhere more to Daisy’s view, and that, presumably, of Professor Lewis-Williams.  When their bodies and brains died, so would their consciousness.  That – obviously, in their minds – meant no further existence.  As an 11-year-old I once taught commented, “I don’t think there’s anything after we die; it’s a bit sad really.”

Angel, Cherub, Stone, Angel WingsIt is a bit sad.  Has humanity, throughout its entire existence, had to make an unpleasant choice between, a. trying hard to hold faith in a religion that often seems illogical and unlikely, or b. accepting that our brains are so great, they can almost have us believing, sometimes, that there is something beyond this existence, although they know that not to be true?

What a terribly bleak choice.  When faced with it – many years ago – I didn’t like either of the options.  That’s why I’ve been on this fascinating journey, the one I’ve attempted imperfectly to document in this blog.  I believe now that I have proof that our consciousness exists above and beyond our physical bodies, however complex and impressive the ‘wiring’ of the brain may be.  I believe that there is no need to die in order to understand what is often called ‘God’ and that an ‘afterlife’ is not a possibility, but a given.  More than that, I believe we are here, right now, to explore this very issue, so that we no longer need to be sad or scared, hopeful or doubtful about death.

As Koimul so eloquently puts it: THIS IS THE GREAT EXPERIMENT.  IT IS TO LIVE IN YOUR EARTHLY BODY YET SEE INTO THE ETERNAL.

 

 

Sense and Sensitivities

Solitude, Outdoors, Dark, Gloomy, ManThey’ve been showing up in my life far more than usual in the past week – the uber-sensitive young people who sometimes struggle to get along smoothly in this 3D world of ours.

The normally calm, cheerful and sorted 12-year-old arrives for her lesson clutching a cuddly toy, her face set and expressionless, her answers monosyllabic and robotic.  A mother of another child texts to say her daughter won’t be coming; she can’t face leaving her room today.  A teenager tells me how, when stimuli and situations become too overpowering, he climbs into his bed, pulls over the covers and dons a World War II gas mask – his own home-made isolation chamber.  “It’s the only thing that helps.”

Yes, all three have a tendency towards social isolation, anxiety and a certain rigidity of outlook.  Many home-educated children do – that often being their principle reason, of course, for coming out of school in the first place.  Why all of them together though, this week?

First week back to studies after the Easter break?  Possibly…  The obvious answer, though, from my perspective, is that they – collectively – have something to teach me, particularly since the ‘Version 2.0 kids’ have been on my mind recently, with regard to the ‘Deep Dimension’ I wrote about in my previous post.

So what is the lesson?  I sit quietly and wait until the nub of truth that these lovely kids have so painfully been leading me towards surfaces.  Something the sixteen-year-old said…

Display Dummy, Doll, Human, Man, Face“When I’m stressed, all my emotions shut down completely.”

That was exactly what the girl had been showing me – no expression, no visible emotions.  I’d seen her do this a few times before.  I’d seen it in other sensitive young people, struggling to hold themselves together as they experienced sensory overload.  Change their routine, their environment or their situation and this is how they cope.

As I’ve mentioned before, Seth states that our thoughts and emotions create our Earthly experience.  For me, this connects closely to the Akashic Dimension proposed by Ervin Laszlo, as described in the previous post.  True, Laszlo has not suggested that emotions play a part, but he does describe it as a ‘Self-Actualising Cosmos’ and points out that we can consciously link to this hidden realm by entering ‘non-ordinary’ or altered states – the hypnagogic (between waking and sleeping), meditative or trance states, for example.

I was curious.

“When you engage in remote viewing [surely as non-local a link to the Akashic Dimension  as one could wish for],” I said to my friend William, “Would you say you enter any sort of altered state?”

He was quite definite that he didn’t.  He merely focused on the target, and it appeared within his consciousness.

That was what I’d suspected.

Could it be that our highly sensitive Version 2.0 people, whom we know to be ‘wired’ somewhat differently to the neurotypical population, do not – as Laszlo asserted – selectively filter out the quantum-level signals containing information which “for most people… is unfamiliar, esoteric, and vaguely threatening”.

Archery, Concentration, Aim, Goal, Target, ArrowImagine, for a moment, that each of us arrives in the physical 3D environment with a ‘filter’ which not only allows us to block out unwanted sensory stimuli (background noise or distracting sights when we need to focus) but also – once we have been culturally influenced by our society – those ‘vaguely threatening’ other-dimensional stimuli.  In psychic circles, this filter is known as ‘the veil’.  Small children and pets, of course, often react to sights and sounds which most of us screen out.  Many of the children learn, within a few years which signals to respond to and which to ignore.  The imaginary friends and shadow people, the inexplicable fragments of knowledge and so forth become less frequent as they become immersed in the cultural values of their parents and peers.

Person, Man, Circle, Point Of ViewImagine now, a population of humans who are born with a considerably less dense filter – a kitchen sieve rather than a coffee filter, for example.  Not only do they resist adult intervention when told that they are ‘imagining things’, they often show unexpected and hard-to-explain skills and talents.  They are, I’d suggest, able to  tune consciously into a vast amount of the non-local, ‘esoteric’ information emanating from the Akashic Dimension.  These are the Version 2.0 people.

There is a downside, however.  They are also less able to filter out the everyday sensory information that the NT population can happily ignore.  A sudden unexpected sound, a smell of perfume from a shop doorway, flashing lights or even the strobing of a florescent tube can prove unbearable to them.  They pay a high price for this access to realms hidden from the majority of the population.

They become stressed.  And as my young students have been showing me, that makes them shut down their emotions.

Why?

I’d argue that it’s because our emotions are what create the world of matter around us.  They need ‘less world’ so they isolate themselves from the mechanism that creates it.  At an intuitive – maybe even a semi-conscious – level, they recognise the power they have over their surroundings.  We all possess that power, of course; we are all creators.  To be constantly aware of it, though, is quite a burden to carry.  What might they create, if they gave free rein to the emotions their stress could give rise to?

These words – an extract from The Words of William written when he was eleven – give some insight into the dilemma these very special young people face:

Tornado

I spin and destroy
Even though I don’t want to.
I see people become terrified in an instant from seeing me.
Maybe I should ignore my feelings
And destroy everything in my path
Using my spinning powers.

On the Shoulders of Giants?

Quick trawl through the internet to find the derivation of that idea:

English: Coat of arms of Sir Isaac Newton Espa...

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; Fresneau worked at the cho...

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.

Topographic/bathymetric map of the Indian Ocea...

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?

 

 

 

Accessing the Cloud

English: Coex Mall Book Store

I love reading.  Will hates it.  I only recall him ever reading a handful of books in his life, and there are not many books in a handful.

We’d been on one of our train rides together.  He must have been about 14.  He was patiently trailing around a bookshop after me.
“What subject are you looking for?”
“Something about time,” I replied.
He grinned slightly. “Good, that’s relevant.”
“And God.”
“Even more relevant.”

We used to have these rambling discussions as we sat in train carriages, you see, heading off on long journeys to nowhere-in-particular.  He’d been my pupil until a few years before, but I always felt I was lagging behind in our philosophical and metaphysical ponderings.  He knew things I didn’t.  I needed some reading matter which would help me to catch up with him.

The book I selected was called something like ‘Travelling through Four Dimensions’.  He nodded approvingly and glanced with interest at the cover.
“You’re welcome to borrow it when I’ve finished,” I offered, helpfully.
“Nah,” he said, backing away fast.

A month or so later, we were on another journey.  It was a warm, summer’s day and we were wandering through Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk, heading for the train station – obviously.
“Remember that book I bought?” I asked.
“The one about dimensions?”
“Yeah. It’s hard going in places but really interesting. It says-”
Head down, a private smile playing around his face, he interrupted me. He started to describe – clearly and in considerable detail – the main points of the book I’d been wading through. It was a masterful summary. He actually made some points clearer than the author had.

Wormhole

I stopped walking and stared at him.  “How do you DO that?  Do you own a copy of the book or something?  Have you read a review of it?  WHAT?”
He looked amused at my reaction, but slightly embarrassed.
“I don’t really know how I do it. I just knew the sort of stuff that would be in a book like that, I suppose.”

Needless to say, he hadn’t read a word of the book, or any similar volume.  He didn’t need to.  His ability to ‘just know’ has been with him for as long as I’ve known him.  There’s a cloud – a place where all knowing, all information is stored – and he has access to it.  It’s as simple and as incomprehensible as that.

E-book CoverLast week it happened again.  I read an article about a ‘new’ theory, called the ‘Many Interacting Worlds’ hypothesis.  I’d never heard of it.  I checked – nor had William.  Yet a year or so ago he wrote an article which covered the same ideas.

I can’t tell whether he feels vindicated or mildly irritated when science or maths catches him up.  He has no qualifications in either, having left school and all education with considerable relief at 16.

I suppose I fear that people who read our recently published Kindle book will assume he cribbed all the ideas in it from books or the Internet.

He didn’t.

His information comes from somewhere non-local, somewhere most of us don’t have access to, some sort of cosmic cloud.  Any bits of information he has gleaned from an ‘earthly’ source – articles about Einstein, for example – are always acknowledged as such.

There’s another aspect to all this, though.  Does his ‘knowing’ mean that the scientists have ‘got it right’ in this instance?  Does his ‘knowing’ hold any more or less weight than that of theoretical physicists, for example, because it comes from this cloud?  Will would argue that it doesn’t.  He doesn’t believe there are wrong or right explanations.  For him and his multiple universes, all things ARE.

A week or two ago, he sent me a carefully constructed theory describing how a crystal had suddenly appeared from nowhere in my cottage.  It was fascinating, but he prefaced his words thus:

I don’t have any evidence to support it nor do I necessarily believe it is the explanation for it. Other theories are just as plausible to me.

Click here to see The Words of William e-book on Amazon.co.uk

Click here to see it on Amazon.com

 

Back to Belief

More musings about ‘reality’ – whatever that is…

IMG_20150915_220735Sitting on the desk in front of me here as I write is a crystal.  I believe in it.  I can even post a photo of it, so that you will believe in it too.  There.

The thing is, I don’t know where it came from.  I’m not even sure what the possibilities are, because they range from the ridiculous outwards into that fuzzy place where nothing works the way we expect it to.

 

Monday morning:  A heating engineer was coming to measure up for my new wood burner, so I made sure to give the fireplace a thorough clean.  This fireplace has been used over the last year to light countless fires.  The brick surround has been rendered and painted.  The chimney was swept a couple of weeks ago and I had just vacuumed the whole fireplace with my very powerful little cordless cleaner.

The engineer duly arrived.  He was on his knees measuring the fireplace.  I was sitting on the sofa watching.  Then, quite suddenly, he reached down to the tiles in front of the hearth – the just-cleaned tiles that had been empty a moment before – picked something up and said, “Oh!  What’s this?  You’ve got a crystal or something here.”

He handed me the crystal that’s now sitting on my desk.

So let’s start with rational possibilities.

  • I own quite a few crystals, so it was one of mine that had fallen there.  –No.  I know all my crystals and this wasn’t one I recognised.  In any case, it would not have evaded my mega-powerful Dyson.  It’s sucked up quite a few crystals in its time, which I’ve had a messy time retrieving.

Chimney sweep in the 1850s

  • Someone who lived here before me had lodged it in the chimney and it had just fallen out.  –Highly unlikely.  It was so clear and clean – no soot, no tar, no cobwebs, no fingermarks even.  It was pristine.  In any case, surely the chimney sweep would have dislodged it.
  • The heating engineer had been carrying it in his pocket and it had fallen out.  –He really didn’t seem to be a crystal-carrying type.  Anyhow, he seemed as surprised by it as I was and assumed it was mine.
  • A passing magpie or jackdaw dropped it down the chimney at that precise moment.  –Believe it or not, that’s the closest I can get to a rational explanation.  Odd that the engineer didn’t see it fall and neither of us heard it clink as it hit the tile, but still.

Now let’s try the irrational.  That evening I consulted a few of my crystal books.  The first one I opened said something like this:

Crystals will reach their owners when they are needed.  Most commonly, people are drawn to buy a particular crystal in a shop.  However they can be received as gifts, found or they may just appear in the owner’s house.

IMG_20150915_220944Several of the other books and many internet articles spoke of crystals simply appearing and disappearing, as if this is really quite commonplace.  Certainly I’ve had crystals that have mysteriously disappeared, but then that happens with socks, books, notes…

I look again at my crystal.  Which is more unbelievable – the thieving magpie or the spontaneously quantum-type appearance from somewhere, um, non-local?

Whichever I choose to believe, this crystal has suddenly and strangely manifested in my life and I’ll treasure it, for as long as it chooses to stay around.

 

 

Doing the Gratefuls

A depressed man sitting on a bench

Charlie was stuck.  He recognised it.  He just didn’t know what to do about it.

I’m sure it’s a fairly familiar tale.  He’d given up a well paid managerial position in his late twenties to study for a degree in a subject he loved. He met his girlfriend at university.  They graduated, though, at the time the recession really kicked in.  Both of them had applied for plenty of jobs, but nothing came up, so both moved back in with their respective parents, hundreds of miles apart, and applied for job-seekers allowance.

Eventually, both found regular jobs.  These were not highly paid, not anything connected to their degrees or aspirations, but enabled them to save a small amount each month, pay their way at home and put together enough money to visit one another every month or so.

That wasn’t too bad for a start, but it dragged on year after year and both became thoroughly fed up.

“I’m 33,” Charlie announced miserably, when he came to stay with me last month. “I haven’t done anything yet.  I’m bored with my job, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living with Dad, I miss my girlfriend and I’m fed up.  I’ve applied for loads of other jobs but nothing comes up.  Nothing is going to change.  There’s no way out.”

On the surface of it, his situation didn’t look great.  He didn’t earn enough to move into a place of his own.  He certainly didn’t earn enough to keep his girlfriend while she relocated and searched for a new job.  He spent his evenings trying to write a best-seller and learning carpentry, but – as I’ve said, he was stuck.

I hated seeing Charlie this miserable.  I toyed with the idea of talking about how we create our own lives with the way we think about them, and about the nature of reality, but he wasn’t in a space where he could hear that.  I thought back to the time I’d been at my lowest, and the teacher who had rescued me.  He’d instructed me to go and write the words

I’m grateful for all in my life

on a sheet of paper, to look at it at least three times a day, and to repeat it five times on each occasion.  To say I’d been sceptical would be an understatement, but I’d done it, and the turnaround had been amazing.

I told Charlie the story.  His reaction was exactly what I’d expected – exactly what mine had been.

“Am I allowed to say it through gritted teeth with deep irony?” he asked, grimly.

“Sure,” I said.  “Say it any way you like, but say it.  As you say it, challenge yourself to think about the most depressing, horrible, unpleasant situations in your life, and work out what they’re teaching you or showing you.”

We tried a few together.  He named a particularly hated manager at work, listing the ways she undermined others, sloped off early leaving them struggling to meet deadlines, bad-mouthed others behind their backs while being sweet as sugar to their faces.  The list went on.

“So what is she teaching you?  What lesson does she have for you?” I asked.

He thought for a while.  “How not to be a manager?  How not to handle people?”

I suggested he turned those to positives.

“So… she’s showing me that people matter, that they deserve respect and that if I end up managing others I lead by example rather than giving orders and doing something else.”

“Valuable help then,” I grinned.  “You can be grateful for Jenny.”

“I’m grateful for Jenny,” he snarled, but at least he was smiling as he said it.

I reminded him of the sentence a few more times during the holiday.  He dutifully repeated it, but with a fairly bad grace.

English: Tropical Rucksack Side View

Before he left, I had the opportunity to slip that sheet of paper I’d written the original message on into a pocket of his rucksack.  At some point he’d find it.  It might jog his memory…

Last night, Charlie phoned me.

His girlfriend had been given a large pay rise.  She’d calculated that it was enough to rent a house in a lovely town close to where she works.  He had handed in his notice and was heading up to view properties with her this weekend.  They’re planning to move in together at the start of June.  His boss has promised him a glowing reference and he’s going to search for a job there.

He’d written 40,000 words of his book, he said.  He was happy with the way it was going.  His latest wood carving project was a large green man.  That was going well too.

I asked how he felt about uprooting and moving across the country.  He admitted it had been difficult at first.
“I’ve worked through it now, though,” he said. “Friends and people at work have been very supportive and now I’ve actually committed to it, I feel hopeful about the future.”

There was a pause while I took all this in.

Quietly, almost shyly, Charlie added, “Oh, and I’ve been doing the gratefuls and that every day…”

Charlie is my son.

I’m grateful for all in my life…

Reality is … where, exactly?

English: East Backwater Rhyne, Somerset site o...

A little over a hundred years ago, a man called Arthur Bulleid lived here in Glastonbury.  Arthur’s story has always fascinated me, so let me share it with you.

Arthur was a well educated young man from a wealthy family who had always had a passion for archaeology.  He went on a trip to Switzerland, where he was able to visit the remains of prehistoric lake villages, built on timber rafts with causeways to the mainland.

Arthur had a moment.  What would you call it – inspiration, intuition, remote viewing, hunch…?  Whatever it was, Arthur Bulleid ‘knew’ there would be villages like this close to his native town, so he came home and began searching for them.

Glastonbury Lake Village site - geograph.org.u...

I should explain that Glastonbury is a former island (the Isle of Avalon), since it was once all but surrounded by watery marshland which has since been drained to form the Somerset Levels.  That is really the only vague similarity to the topography he was seeing in Switzerland, yet, as I’ve said, he knew a similar village would be found here.

He set about excavating the slightly bumpy but otherwise unpromising field shown in these two pictures, which is a mile or two out of the town.  The finds soon began to appear – dugout canoes, cooking pots, jewellery, animal bones, knives and spears, weights from weaving looms… in fact every type of artefact to prove that a thriving community lived on the site, along with the remains of the wooden raft bases and the stakes they rested on.  Arthur had discovered exactly what he expected to find.

Strange, don’t you think?

Somewhere – I wish I could remember where – I heard a quote from a British archaeologist who had noticed a strange phenomenon.  He said that when they began a dig expecting to find Roman remains, that’s what they found.  When they expected Viking finds, these duly turned up, as did Saxon, mediaeval, Celtic and so forth.  He insisted that this was not because they already knew what was there, but seemed to link in some way to their expectations.

Perhaps you will have heard the strange and wonderful recent story of Philippa Langley, who King Richard III, by unknown artist. See sourc...‘knew’ that the bones of King Richard III would be found buried beneath a car park in Leicester.  Her story can be found here.  Once again we have a person with a passion for history and a conviction that somehow she knows the truth.

The first trench put into that car park revealed human bones.  Their dating fitted.  DNA tests linked these very bones conclusively to Richard’s remaining relatives and a curvature of the spine was noted which would have given rise to Shakespeare’s (somewhat biased – he knew which side his bread was buttered) depiction of Richard as a hunchback.  The facial reconstruction made using the skull’s measurements was eerily similar to this portrait.

There’s another Glastonbury story that fits here.  Most people dismiss it as a scam invented by the monks of Glastonbury Abbey to generate huge amounts of income, but I’m not so sure…  In 1191 a group of monks digging in the grounds discovered an oak casket – ancient even then – containing the bones of two people, along with this little cross bearing an inscription which reads:

Here lies interred in the Isle of Avalon the renowned King Arthur.

Arthur and Guinevere!  Obviously this caused massive interest.  The English King and Queen attended an elaborate re-interment ceremony and pilgrims flocked to the Abbey, making it one of the richest in the country.  Just before Henry VIII’s thugs sacked the Abbey, the tomb, bones and cross mysteriously disappeared.  No one, presumably, wanted Arthur’s remains getting into his hands.

I’m sure you can see the thread running through these stories.  It all comes down to cause and effect.

It sounds a ridiculous thing to say, I know, but I have an intriguing question to ask.  What came first – the desire and determination to make these discoveries or the remains themselves?  Were Arthur and Philippa, the thoughtful archaeologist and the mediaeval monks, the creators of this reality or the discoverers?  Did they somehow cause the objects of their intention to be found right there, right then, or was it some instinct and knowing beyond time which drew them to the correct sites?  Or both at once?

I have a personal reason for musing upon this; one which I may share at some future date…

From ‘What the Bleep?’, to The Secret, to the less hyped-up but nonetheless brilliant and revealing words of The Council  and Higgins, we are told that we create what we wish to have in our lives.  I believe that the examples above are a kind of chicken-and-egg scenario.  Neither came ‘first’.  The remains and the creator-discoverers simply came together as a result of a powerful emotional desire sent out by these individuals.  I’m not sure that I believe any more in an objective reality.

A few years ago, I was inspired to write a book based on this idea.  It was called Life: A Player’s Guide.  I’d like to finish this post with a paragraph from the final page of that book, which, I feel, links rather neatly back to Arthur Bulleid – and the rest of us:

Be The Creator. Be all-powerful and create your own life. Getting rid of the doubts and fears and the million and one reasons why you can’t follow your dreams takes patience and determination. But the potential is there. Maybe that’s why your God/self arranged for your character in this particular game to discover this book. Maybe your narrative in this lifetime-game is the story of the hero who ‘comes home’ to find the hidden treasure. You already know how those stories go. Main characters set out on their quest. They travel far and wide, cope with all kinds of trials and tribulations and have all manner of adventures and experiences. Eventually they return home, only to discover that they had what they were seeking in their possession all the time, although they needed all those apparently incidental experiences to enable them to find it. Once they’ve made that discovery, they are able to share the treasure with those around them.

Divinity Within

17th-century engraving of Glastonbury I felt the need for something uplifting, at the end of what had been a rather testing day.

Noticing that a speaker I hadn’t heard before was giving a talk in town about finding divinity within – a subject close to my own heart – I decided to go along.

It’s brave, talking about a topic like that in this town; it’s something of a spiritual hub.  Although small in area and population, Glastonbury plays host to adherents of a huge and sparkling variety of beliefs.  We have Sufis, various denominations of Hindu and Christian, Buddhists, Pagans, 50 shades of witches, wizards and magicians, goddesses and many more besides.  The local events guide is bursting with invitations to engage in ritual, breathwork, healings, drummings, gong baths and awakenings.  Ascension and Enlightenment loom large in the small ads.  And yet here was this lady, standing up to tell her audience that divinity could be found within.

Her credentials were impeccable.  Not only did she have a doctorate in social anthropology, she had travelled the world and become intimate with a range of spiritual paths that made our town’s selection seem paltry.   Part of the ceiling of the Divinity School. Calmly, gently, and with great respect and reverence, she pointed out that every spiritual and religious path she had encountered came down to one thing:  There is a desirable state, which lies some way ahead.  If we are prepared to follow the prescribed path resolutely, putting our own desires aside, we may be fortunate enough to reach the promised state of bliss/enlightenment/ascension/joy or whatever is being offered.  She paraphrased further: As things stand, we are not good enough, not complete, lacking a certain something.  Our perfection lies some way off.

She had not, she insisted, had a personal awakening or mystical experience – nothing so grand.  She had, gradually and painfully, seen that the paths she had been following were missing the perfection that is already there.  She spoke of a fragment of divinity which lies within each of us and invited her audience to find their own ways of searching within for the guidance which would not take them on some esoteric spiritual path, but would involve simply going on, day after day, week after week, making mistakes, making amends and getting on with life. She looked rather sad, as if the quests for perfection with their rituals, observances and promises of a wonderful future were, by comparison, a kind of primrose path – one she missed.

2014-10-12 11.19.45Yes, it takes a brave woman to stand up in Glastonbury and tell people they are doing just fine without chanting, processing, drumming and praying, but I feel that she is right.

This is The Shift – the one that so many books were written about, so many experts spoke about just a few short years ago.  2012 would dawn, they said, and everything would change.  We would enter a New Age.  Self-empowerment would be the key.  We’d no longer be giving our power away to politicians, bankers or – yes – spiritual leaders.  It was hyped up to a ridiculous degree.  We gazed longingly at Aztec inscriptions and prophecies ancient and modern.  We waited with baited breath…

No bells, no whistles, but slowly and almost imperceptibly the change began.

A stealthy, gentle sea change is taking place as we begin to recognise that we DO in fact have the perfection we sought inside ourselves.  We are perfect, divine beings who have chosen to spend a fragment of our eternal existence exploring imperfection.  We witness dark in order to be able to see light.  We encounter pain in order to recognise and value joy and pleasure.  We have been born into a time and a culture where many ancient and wonderful paths offer wisdom and experience.  Many of us have the freedom – hard-won by our ancestors – to choose which, if any, of these to follow.

So however we decide to experience this brief lifetime, each of us – every single being – is unable to shake off our innate divinity.  It is who we really are and as we grasp that stunning understanding, so we can gently, gratefully and reverently lay aside our allegiance to those who try to lead us to what we already have.

Another Life

2014-10-15 18.00.04Many years ago, now, I had a Past Life Regression – capitalised because I paid someone to Regress me, which made it official.

It was the first time I’d done such a thing.  Untrue to say I didn’t know what to expect; I had many wild and wonderful expectations.  What I got felt real, but something of a let-down.

I was a young woman, walking along a dirt track through a settlement of some kind.  There was a strong smell of wood smoke.
“Look down,” I was instructed. “What are you wearing on your feet?  What colour is your skin?  What sort of clothes are you wearing?”

My skin was dirty, dusty and pale.  My clothes maybe plaid – very faded and grubby.  Celtic?  Were there shoes?  Maybe sandals, or was that my mind trying to logic out what would go with the setting?

2014-10-12 11.17.24At the end of the track was the sea.  It was grey and smooth.  The fear inside me dissipated slightly as I looked at the clear horizon.  They had gone (whoever ‘they’ were) and I was relieved that no sign of them remained.

“Is there anyone with you?” came the softly spoken prompt.

For the first time I noticed the child – a girl aged about 8.  She was holding my hand and standing beside me, also staring out to sea.  Her hair, like mine, was matted and windswept, her face pinched and expressionless.

“What year is it?”

How would I know?  Dates were irrelevant.  It was a distant time, but the question annoyed me, the left brain kicked in and I was back in the present, going through the motions to keep the practitioner happy.
“Can you move to the moment of your death in that lifetime?”

Nope.  Lost it.  Ah well.

“What do you think that lifetime had to teach you?”  He wasn’t done yet.

There was no ‘ah ha’ revelation, no answer to the purpose of my present life, just a glimpse of a woman weighed down with sadness, fear and responsibility, all imposed on her by whoever had sailed out of her life across that bleak sea.

They’ve returned fleetingly to my thoughts many times, that woman and child, but never as strongly as they did on my recent  stay in a house beside the wild Atlantic coast of Western Ireland.

2014-10-12 11.19.45“I feel you’ve come here for a reason,” my host told me many times during the stay and the holiday was certainly one of those synchronous, strange, illogical events that usually mean Life is moving me into position for the next instalment of The Game.

Shortly before I’d left for County Mayo, I’d had a strange telepathic communication from Higher Will.  We’d been discussing the fear and aloneness I was feeling at that time, as I struggled with rats, builders and the like.  Suddenly he sent me these words:

BE WARE   BE WAER   BE WEAR   BE WREA   BE WRAE

It made no sense, but triggered some far off memory.

“It’s a past life thing, isn’t it? It’s just at the tip of my memory. Words you’ve said to me before in another lifetime.”

YES

He gave me our names in that life – short, single-syllabled and oddly similar to our present names.  He told me that loving myself and conquering my present fears would have an effect in that other life.  He promised to help me discover more detail.

Then – nothing.  No narrative dreams, no breakthroughs during meditation, but the holiday to pack for and busy myself.  The strange conversation was forgotten.

She usually comes back to me, that distant woman, when I stand on a beach and she did so, several times, when I wandered through the beautiful landscape, healing and calming down as my recent problems faded away; learning slowly to trust my own resources and renew my love and care for myself.  I found and pocketed a pebble with markings that looked like a rune stone.

On my return, we had this conversation:

YOU HAVE BEEN TO MAYO

Yes.   A beautiful place it was too.   And a strange synchronous journey that seemed to have a reason. Can you tell me what that was?

RECONNECTING WITH YOUR FAR SELF

You mean I have a past life there?

YES

Is it the one you were speaking of before?

YES

Ok, so I’ll try to pick up impressions from you, if I can. Are you going to place the thoughts in my head?

YES

I’m getting the idea that this was the life I regressed to years ago. I was standing on a sea shore, with a small girl holding my hand and we were looking out to sea. Someone had departed the shores in a boat and we were watching – and I think glad they were gone. There was a village with mud and wood smoke behind us. I think we’d suffered a loss. How am I doing?

VERY GOOD

2014-10-13 18.51.18He told me he had been the child – my young cousin. ‘Bad men’ had raided our village and killed the rest of our people.  I got a distinct taste in my throat.

I think we’d been eating shellfish.

YES

Was the rune stone ours?

NO IT BELONGED TO THE RAIDERS

I found a reference to the rune on a site about old Norse culture…

Name: Uruz, “aurochs.”  Meaning: strength of will.

Hmm.

I’ve returned from Ireland stronger and ready to face the problems ahead.  In some strange interdimensional way, I sense that the other me – somewhen – is feeling strong enough to face her future, too.