Pandora’s Box

No longer will I fret about current affairs. Reality has shifted into an alternative universe I do not find particularly attractive these days. From here on in I intend to concentrate more and more on what I can still trust to engage with, my memories. I am slowly discovering the obstacles and barriers that have kept me from making my desired individual progress that I believe is available to each of us to bring increased meaning and substantiation to our presence here in this life, and in this time. Getting older affords all of us more time for this purpose. I am sure that greater meaning to all things lies just beyond a penetrable fine veil. All we need is the will and the right tools to help us find the illusive door that opens to an inward journey and the temple that is housed within us, and it is better lit than most of us believe it to be. We too are equipped to see through the darkness. There we may find the font of all knowledge that is housed in a vessel in our hearts, patiently waiting for us to prise open the lid. You could also think of it as a trunk full of little boxes, or monsters, that we have packed away because they are too scary or too painful to pry into – something like what was in Pandora’s Box. 

For this purpose I am choosing to look back in an investigative manner on memories that have always been present, and seem to have a mind of their own as to when they leap into and out of my mind. Now feels like a good time to deconstruct them in order to find out whether they can reveal more than just remembered crumbs of time, that if we are attentive they can lead us home. Another Fairy Tale comes to mind, one that rocked my world as a child, Hansel and Gretel. Perhaps if we don’t pay attention to the past the birds will eat all the crumbs, and make it much harder to forge a good path between birth and death.

In one of the few moments when my mother bared her soul to me, and during a dark time in her relationship with Greg, my brother, a time when he was using heroin to self-medicate, she told me that from the moment he was put in her arms her heart was his. When these moments happen in life they cannot simply be cognitive decisions or wholly emotional ones emanating from our ego alone. I believe they come from somewhere much deeper, knowledge that is lodged or even logged in our souls.  I suspect there was something of a golden light that emanated from him, and certainly the response from his aunts and others to the boy that was Greg supports this hypothesis. When Elle’s older sister Kate arrived, Peter and I both registered Kate’s intelligent and challenging brown eyes. She made not a sound but stared from Peter’s to my face and back again for the longest of times. Life continued the same way for her as she enthusiastically explored every person that was willing to spend some time with a toddler, and she rushed forward into language to make sure it could happen. I don’t remember anything other than clearly enunciated language flowing out of her and from a very young age. Elle seemed to come into the world with a different focus, very much testing her boundaries, physical, emotional and mental, and as she grew into herself it emerged that she instilled in friends, and anyone she interacted with, the ability to feel better about themselves. She also seemed to be very sensitive to all the energies that surround us, both physically and socially. When we are united with our children, and from that moment on, the next phase in the story of our soul’s life begins to unfold as our hearts are permanently linked to those of our children.

My mom, Peggy, was the elder of two sisters by eight years. I didn’t know her parents except that their names were Lyla (or Lylia) and Wesley Benn. Even in old age my mom never spoke of them without a few tears welling up. I am different to my mom in that way. Once I reached the age of thirty I rarely cried, and when a tear did make itself felt I was almost always alone with my thoughts or losses. Because we lived mostly in countries away from my parental home my mother would visit us over the last independent years of her life. As we moved towards the airport gates, heading home, she would be crying and I would be dry-eyed until that moment she turned to walk through the gate, and then my eyes would well up. It made me even sadder because she never knew this happened, and must have wondered if I cared. But I didn’t linger on this too much and gave a lot of thought as to why my mother cried so much and so easily. 

Becoming a mother usually helps one to understand all mothers better and especially one’s own. My mother told me often how beautiful, kind and loving her parents were, and always through her tears. She told me how much everyone loved them, and yes, other family members have confirmed this. And after hearing this many times I started to look deeper at what she was telling me. She told me that she would not leave her parents’ bedroom and move into her own until a baby sister joined the family unit. She said that her mother regularly redecorated her bedroom to try to entice her into accepting it as her space, but within days she had moved back in with her folks. It’s no wonder it took her parents eight years to make another baby! They must have been especially kind and/or indulgent of little Peggy to have put up with this for so long, and I am sure my mother’s reticence to sleep alone was not because she felt physically unsafe when alone. As she grew older her stories all indicated that she had wanted for nothing, and was perhaps even a little spoilt, although the family was not rich. Her father was a teacher who had become a school inspector for quite a large district, and as she got older she loved to ride out to nearby towns in the sidecar of his Harley Davidson. My mother truly had an idyllic childhood and upbringing in the beautiful lagoon-side town, Knysna, in the Western Cape of South Africa. She had a cousin as her best friend from babyhood, and lots more cousins, first, second, and no doubt, third too. Knysna abounded with family all with the surname Benn.

My mother and father moved to Cape Town not long after they got married, for reasons I know more of now but not pertinent to this blog. When I was about six months old, and my grandmother being a widow struggling to get over the death of her beloved husband, my parents invited her to move in with them. At this time my grandmother would have been around fifty-five years old. She told her daughter that while she loved her very much she did not want to live without ‘Daddy’ (what she called her husband to her children). She died a year later and the doctor told my mother she died of a broken heart. Having been through the loss of a child, I can imagine very clearly how this felt to my mother – she wasn’t loved enough for her mother to want to continue to be present in her life. Having spent time thinking about my mother, her tears, her vulnerability and her wariness of loving too much (she found it hard to hug and cuddle us, except perhaps for my brother who remembered his early childhood differently), my love for her grew immensely. I understood that she never felt worthy in the presence of the great love between her parents, and felt always that she lived on the outside of their circle of two; in some ways she felt that her love for them was unrequited. I don’t presume that they didn’t love her and her sister with all their hearts, but perhaps they didn’t realise that sometimes they needed to turn away from one another, face their children straight on, and show them how loved they were.

Even before Elle died I had taken note and processed this knowledge into my life experience, and I truly believe it helped me through my grief as I understood so well just how much Kate, our elder daughter, needed Peter, my husband, and me to recover, even if she could not see how she would ever come to terms with her grief. But even more importantly, I understand today that life is always waiting for us to engage with the knowledge that is available in the ether or, better described, the collective consciousness (all that there is to know), to help us avoid taking wrong turnings, or weak branches of our Tree of Life. I believe today that nothing bad that happens to us is ever a punishment. Life is about consequences. We may be born with a blue print, which looks something like that tree, of all the possible ways in which our life will run eventually to its end, but how we get there is the Free Will part that leads to the consequences of any and all choices we make. Good deaths tend to go hand in hand with experiencing the happier consequences that come to us, and, well, the opposite is probably true too, and here I am talking about a full life lived. Shortened lives can have very different values and interpretations. Another blog, maybe.

An aside. Pandora’s Box has fascinated me since a child. In my innocence I thought it was just another good story, but as I got older I gradually became aware that there is a lot more to stories than just simple imaginative story telling. As I have grown older still, I find that there are endless nuggets of lessons, warnings, truth and revelations hidden throughout all the Fairy Tales, Fables and Myths from tribes and cultures all over the world. The Greek Myths and the Hebrew Old Testament more or less came into being around the same time, approximately eight centuries BC. But when you read the Bible’s version of Creation, the Garden of Eden, and the results of Eve eating from the forbidden tree, The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and then read Pandora’s Box, they are pretty much identical stories. Creation myths around the world all have much in common. It leads one to think that they must have come into being through collective consciousness as they all developed around a similar time and in remote parts of the world, and if it was collective consciousness then most likely we live in a holographic universe. If a holographic universe then there must be infinite more. I don’t see how anyone cannot believe that there is so much more to life than meets the eye or, in other words, that all we are is co-incidental matter.

The name Pan is a boy’s name, of Greek and Hindi tradition, meaning ‘all’ or ‘to shepherd’. Dora is a girl’s name, being the shortened version of the Greek name, Dorothea or Theodora, meaning ‘Gift or in its full form, ‘God’s Gift’. You could say that we were gifted with a shepherd and a shepherdess who would guide us through our dual world to know all that concerns the ‘knowledge of good and evil’ – all that is dark and the light to show us the way home.

A Plea for Humanity

This is not my usual blog. This is an attempt to speak to people all over the world. Please watch this interview with the man who is probably the top vaccinologist on the planet. Someone who couldn’t believe more strongly in the career of developing vaccines he chose for himself. He is someone from deep within the medical system who knows that his career is now probably over.

This is the link to the paper he wrote as a plea for humanity:

https://www.linkedin.com/feed/update/urn:li:activity:6776936514971553792/

From a Jackdaw to a Prince

“I’m a believer in meditation that isn’t thought of as traditional meditation. It can be in the form of music or painting or walking or anything else that carries you into the flow state. Getting lost isn’t actually getting lost. That’s the paradox: getting lost is going inward. Getting lost is finding ourselves in a deeper capacity. Getting lost is sometimes essential to growth and ultimately a greater understanding.”

Victoria Erickson, writer

The last two months in yet another temporary home, a state we have been in for four and a half years, have highlighted the pleasure I feel wherever I find myself homed. I would describe the process as joining forces with birds. And having ‘joined forces’ or connected, it feels like time and I have merged too – I do not feel a sense of ‘separation’ from nature or reality. The endgame is that reality feels much more dynamic and fluid, and an open system. Bird watching is new to me and I don’t have my binoculars yet, so I struggle to identify the birds that visit our small courtyard vicinity. There is a black pair of birds that I talk to regularly who live in one of the many chimney pots that stand out on our manmade horizon line, and at first I thought they were crows. Then I realised they were too small. Were they blackbirds? No, too big. Finally I reached for my new Urban Birder book, and I am quite sure they are jackdaws

There was something comforting and timely about this discovery because of all the memories of my dad that have been floating in and around my mind for some months now. I wish I had thought to ask him more of his childhood – but he told me just enough to know something of the boy that was he. He would probably have been twelve are thereabouts, living near Barham, Kent, of an average family edging towards the middle classes as his father tried desperately hard to keep a business afloat. The year would therefore have been 1926. His three floors plus a cellar brick-built home would certainly not have had electricity. It was in 1926 that Stanley (my dad’s name) Baldwin, the then Prime Minister, promised the country that there would be a cheap supply of energy to every home in the country very soon. Only 6% of homes were joined up to any kind of a grid in those days and you can imagine who owned those homes. His mother gave birth to six children, one died as an infant, and she raised five as best she could until she died around 1925/26. Life was simpler but harder. I cannot help but wonder how much more canny you needed to be to survive in those days. Us softies, used to everything arriving on a plate or in a box, who are sure we must have got smarter because time has ‘progressed’ us, wouldn’t last a day in their world. Anyway, back to my dad. He was his mother’s favourite, and would eventually grow into something of the black sheep of the family. I imagine he saw things differently to her other children and I suspect he also had a natural charm. The ladies later certainly thought so. A little village in the English countryside wasn’t enough to fill all that he imagined, and that is how he eventually left for a new life in Africa, encouraged by his brothers who feared that if he stayed he was sure to end up in trouble of some sort of another.

Many years ago he told me the story of how one day he had to have a jackdaw egg for his collection. He knew there was a nest near the top of a tree on the neighbouring estate. It happened to be the estate of Lord Kitchener of WW1 and with ties to Africa. The young Stan climbed to the top of the tree, reached into the nest, and carefully climbed down so as not to break it, only to find the gamekeeper waiting for him at ground level. It was considered poaching in those days to take a rabbit or an apple from the land of another, and taken a lot more seriously if it was from the landed gentry. I believe that there was also a spanking waiting for him before marching him back to complain to his dad. I have a feeling his father was a bit of softie, knowing my dad, so probably one was enough for the occasion. The eggs of the jackdaw are white to pale blue with grey and brown specks. They sound beautiful. I have always had a soft spot for the colour known as duck egg blue. The jackdaws’ are more sky blue.

That got me thinking – the third fairy tale. And yes, it may be stretching things a bit far, but for my dad to stay in a small village with a limited horizon was probably no better than being stuck in a tower with only his imagination to keep him company. So one day, when his princess, Africa, came riding by it was time for Rapunzel to let down his ladder, board a ship, and sail out to the expansive plains of Africa. Yes, I know, the story was turned on its head somewhat. And I also can’t help but see the relevance in a comparison with life today in lockdown Britain. Who will be our prince or princess? I have a feeling that the answer is that it will be we, the people, who will one day become the princes and princesses needed to free ourselves from this tyranny working hard to get itself together and operational. It wasn’t long before Stanley had a safari outfit, a bush hat, a lorry and a dog, and he would drive many hundreds of mile through the bush and through rivers, sleeping out in a tent with the wild animals, all the way from Rhodesia to the coast of Mozambique. His job was to collect and return migrant workers to the tobacco farms. He loved his life in the bush and on the road and the people he spent most of his time with, a love he never lost, and once the interruption of WW2 was over, and he was able to return to his beloved Africa. He was more than ready to fall back into the arms of she who is the heartbeat of the world, one that cradles us all through the dark nights whether we know it of not – the enigmatic, athletic, extraordinary, sensuous Africa.

Merkaba and Roses

They sail on the wind

Time slipped us a reminder

Dragon ships fly by

I have been holding onto a special bird story for a while now because I knew I wanted to tell it well. It’s good I waited because now the story has grown a few extra wings so to speak, and that makes it even more joyous to share with you. About four years ago I started to feel a more meaningful relationship with nature growing within my heart. Why it took so long I don’t know. I have always looked with longing on nature, and I certainly knew that she could speak back following a couple of ‘unitary experiences’ in my twenty-first year. But Father Time likes to have his own way with us.

I am not going into all of the bird experiences I have had since then except to say that birds began to communicate with me early in 2020 when I witnessed an extraordinary pigeon jamboree, a gathering of hundreds of them, on trees and telephone wires in a field near where we lived outside of San Joan de Labritja, Ibiza. There are many of us who know that we have witnessed events over the last year seeing hundreds of posts social media of animals and nature behaving in unusual ways, and something would have appeared to have changed irreversibly, and in my view it is not just us humans receiving this unique viral update to our consciousness. About four months ago it dawned on me not so slowly that we could have a two-way conversation with nature, and I mean more than imagined, and that key turned out to be birds. Aha, I thought, this is how Francis of Assisi might have got started.

Around six weeks ago, in our temporary accommodation, not far from Cheltenham, UK, with a limited view of the sky I saw something that nearly caused me to fly up into the sky to join them. We all know that birds are capable of athletic manoeuvres but these have always been associated with either the need to eat or the desire to procreate. I was watching a group of some white and some the usual grey pigeons, considered the least cerebrally endowed of the wild birds, and they were having such fun flying in circles close to home I imagine. I knew it had to be a batch of homing pigeons circling above our small back courtyard, and yes, I was paying the right attention when I saw something that initially I thought, oh no, that can’t be so. One grey pigeon stood out from the others. He dropped some ways through the air and the reason was because he was doing somersaults! And to make sure I noticed he broke away from the flock and did it two more times. I told Peter what I had seen and saw a glimmer of a smile break across his face. 

Two days later, the same grey pigeon, it had to be, came out on his own, and with Peter standing next to me, he repeatedly gave us a display of aerobatics including somersaults, and now at least I had a witness. I have called him Stanley Livingstone Pigeon. It was only a few months earlier that Heather, my sister, had inspired me to read the updated version of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. My dad was called Stanley, and there was a natural flow to my pigeon’s name that I couldn’t resist. On the third occasion, four whites and Stanley were circling right above me, and two of the four white pigeons were also doing somersaults. I know it is stretching things, and you may call me batty, yes, I am still friends with them, but I had wondered whether any of the others were impressed with his antics. Jonathan Livingstone Seagull was sadly exiled from his family for his extravagant behaviour and refusal to be like other seagulls, not concentrating on food to keep himself alive but rather choosing to follow his bliss. Being right above me, it was like white roses tumbling from the sky as their feathers transformed into petals. What nudged me into writing today was that yesterday, and again with Peter, the batch was back in the sky, and they all seemed to be engaged in what I can only describe as an aerial display of aerobatics, including multiple somersaults. This time, and again right above me, there was something of a spinning top about them, and I told Peter that it was like a merkaba – a word I had only heard used by Matias de Stefano in his series on Gaia when describing a multisided geometric structure, and another time by my weather man describing spinning shapes, UFOs, that many people were reporting in the night sky near them wherever they were living in the world.

In my usual fashion, when I come across a word that I am not sure of, I looked it up on Wikipedia—not a respected site these days, but usually okay on subjects that are not likely to be politicised. I am often surprised by these moments. For starters, it was the second time on the same morning for a very tender and personal reason, that I saw the words, Throne of God. That alone would be enough of an affirmation for me. Then there was the explanation around Merkabah, as it is written in its Hebrew form. And a synchronicity occurred when I read the description of the Chariot that supported God’s lapis lazuli throne. When I was a young woman it was my favourite stone. The accompanying image, a nineteenth century fresco named Ezekial’s Wheel in St John the Baptist Church in Macedonia had many wings attached to spinning wheels connected to four other spinning wheels. They are golden in colour, and right there is the connection to Rumpelstiltskin, mentioned in my last blog, the spinning of straw by a princess, something of nature turned into gold until the answer of a riddle came to her, allowing her to be able to keep her family together. I wrote that the connection as to why it was an important fairy tale to me was bound to come up in its own time. Little did I know it would be so soon! Affirmations have abounded in my life and even more so since my daughter died. I think of them as little miracles, not nearly as scary as a big one would be. My faith can never be rocked but is forever evolving. I am happy for it not to become a fixed view or doctrine on what exists when our consciousness leaves our body. And this is constantly affirmed for me—I know this because I live ever more peacefully and lovingly. And I feel safe in my place in the world because Peter is my rock, and he will always make sure that my feet are firmly anchored in the ground.

A postscript: I have been informed that there are Tumbler pigeons. What strangeness. This morning the batch gave me a front row seat to their display. Every now and then Stanley would break away from the others, and the complete performance ended with a solo performance as he tumbled more times than I could count, and almost above my head. Peter and I watched as they swooped and glided, rising high in the sky and diving into tumbles. Their glides, especially when performed by the white pigeons touches on the sublime. Most birds glide with wings in the horizontal position, or folded back when looking for greater speed, but their wings in this case are raised high, forming a V, for as long as they can hold themselves in a forward propulsion. It makes me hold my breath in excitement. I have absolutely no doubt that these birds of paradise are experiencing the bliss that only comes when we reach for those greater heights of life experience.

Birds on a Wire

birds-on-a-wire-stock-picture-496397

The bird is an inspiring animal that symbolizes freedom and spiritual growth to some people. Some consider birds as divine messengers. Those whose lives have been enriched by birds have said that God can perform a miracle through them.

J M Barrie

I am not done with my struggles and comments on current affairs. But for now there is something else I want, or rather need, to put my energy into. I want to see what I discover travelling inwards rather than continually fretting about what I cannot change. After all, I did call my blog ‘jennie’s red book’. I don’t for a moment expect to match Jung’s brave descent into his own inner dark corners, and certainly they were very dark. That particular invitation has not been extended to me; that is to say, I am not ready to see and hear what he saw. After all, there has only been one Jung in modern times, and I hope that my angels will allow me to experience only what is ‘me-appropriate’. I have scratched away at some levels of my own inner darkness, and I believe I may be ready to dig a little deeper. But wherever I do end up going I intend to take the birds of the wild with me, while my little Coco sits close to remind me. We shall see if I am right and how far I get. 

I have been duelling for many years with what I call my resistance to following leads and directions that I recognise would be beneficial for me, such as for my health, both physically and spiritually, among other things. I have always had a need to plough my own furrow, to not allow someone else to make decisions for me, and it wouldn’t be unfair to call it out for what it is – an innate stubbornness. In recent years I have developed an intimate relationship with this force that drives me. There are days when I am self-disappointed, and I ask myself what it is that causes this resistance, and why I seem not to have the will to override. Recently I listened to a talk given by a therapist that has given me another way of viewing this persistent presence in my life. Perhaps my resistance, besides holding me back, could also be something of a friend, a support and a guide. I have had difficulty in engaging with God and particularly Jesus for all my adult life even though I know I believe, and not just in my head. But I also know that my view of them is as ‘other’ than myself. Everything that I have been hearing lately is telling me to let go of all that I believe to be true. I see that my belief system is based around the dual nature of reality, and therefore I reside in a world of me and others. I have often received hints through affirmations that my body is truly a temple, and if that is an important truth then I have certainly been looking for answers in the wrong direction. 

Not knowing where to look for a stepping-off stone, I shall start by digging up memories and engaging with dreams from my past and the now as they enter my conscious mind. I intend to turn them over and inside out in the hope that they will reveal clues on how to find my way, and what I am hoping is that one day I shall find an open door that leads me into the vaulted stone nave of my own inner temple, a view of myself and a building that I have seen in my mind’s eye.

The thought of finding stepping stones, or crumbs even, reminds me of the story of Hansel and Gretel. Many times over recent years I have thought about elements of this story, and the children’s attempts at remembering the path that their henpecked father led them on, ever deeper into the chaos of the unknown and dark forest in his attempt to abandon them. They knew that without their stones they would not find their way back to the safety of home ground. Perhaps my memories can serve me in the same way as I proceed on this new adventure. This fairy tale, along with two others, Rapunzel and Rumplestiltskin, all of them stories from the Brothers Grimm, are the ones that caused me most distress as a child. I think this fact can tell me something of what I came into this lifetime remembering. With regard to Hansel and Gretel, I feel that what I picked up on as a small child was that the family unit could just as easily disintegrate; that there was no certainty that family endured all. I am sure I will have something to say about the other two fairy tales as when they call out to me.

My favourite two books as a small child were Magic Island, as I remember its name, and The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley. Sadly I have not been able to trace Magic Island and I would love to read the story to my grandsons. I remember it clearly and now also understand it on the level that any outstanding child’s book should aspire to. What stands out to me is how it showed the way to conquer childhood fears and encouraged children to learn how to ‘slay their dragons’, but to the small child that was me, it was just magic, joy, freedom and the very best kind of adventure. As I remember it, there was a brother and sister who lived either on the coast or on a lake, and not far off was an island. They were told that a dragon lived on the island and that it was angry and dangerous, and breathed fire. One day, during their summer holidays, they found a piece of paper, and on it was written a recipe that was headed, ‘How to tame a dragon’. They decided to row out to the island, search for the ingredients which were something like various plants and a wing of a dragonfly or the feather of a falcon, and I seem to remember that one of the ingredients was very hard to find or even dangerous to collect. By this time there was a need to hurry because the dragon had become aware of their presence, but they were successful in placing a saucer of the ‘milk’ at the bottom of a hill, and watched as the dragon lapped it up. And hey presto, they were able to befriend the dragon. Their father arrived about this time to search for his missing children but ended up witnessing their bravery. Perhaps this story rings bells with someone of a similar age to me. I can see the book in my mind’s eye, and I would say its design and illustrations make me think it was published in the 1940s or 50s.

As mentioned earlier, I intend to parachute stories of birds in amongst my memories because of the joy they have brought to my life. They are playing a much needed role of keeping me grounded and I may need this service more than ever now. Through many moments spent gazing longingly up into the sky, looking for answers I suspect, it wasn’t going to take long before the antics of the birds had me hooked. I realised that I was creating a connection to the universe that was new for me. Not surprising really that birds are at the heart of the matter when we consider their deep involvement with humankind by way of archetypes, mythologies and tales throughout the ages. Birds and feathers are at the core of some of the most regularly experienced phenomena, especially when we lose a loved one. Until recently I would see a bird fly by, perched on a branch, or tweeting its beautiful songs, and perhaps even marvel at it, but now I see much deeper into their peculiar antics, communications and behaviours. It is more like ‘I see a bird who sees me’. It feels like we are engaged with each other. I am admitted into their world, as much as I have drawn them into mine. 

I have witnessed house-keeping, aerobatics, acrobatics, research and development, sociability, patience, determinism, collaboration, bravery, resilience, the three Rs – rhythm, routine and ritual, the three Ps – primping, preening and protecting, inquisitiveness and joy, especially the tiny warblers and sparrows who fly gleefully everywhere they go. They are so willing to teach me a better way. It was the dove and its cousin, the pigeon, that facilitated this new connection, and of course I have recalled that Noah chose the humble dove of The Ark to fly out to find land, and can one imagine his joy when on the second attempt he returned with an olive branch, now our visual symbol of Peace. It was by way of an amazing sight given to me by luck (or not) as I snuck out of our locked down home in the north of Ibiza to take my dogs to a secret walk near us. On the way back I happened to take my eyes off the little ‘cami’ and to my right I saw a large fallow field falling away from my view. There were power lines crossing the field, and I noticed that there were hundreds of birds sitting on the wires. I then saw that all the trees surrounding the large field were vibrating with activity from hundreds more of pigeons jostling and exchanging places with others. My immediate response was ‘wow, a Pigeon Jamboree’. And so I found myself at the start of a new journey, you could say, one that is channeling my inner St Francis. From that day onwards I started to have some surprising and awesome experiences at the hands, or rather, the wings of birds.

A postscript:

It is only when I reread the commentary on The Water Babies that I recalled that Tom falls in awe of a young girl of a similar age called Ellie. He and Ellie, who has become a water baby herself, have regular meetings as they share experiences that are preparing them for life as better versions of themselves. I shall definitely be rereading the book again. It should be remembered that it was written by a man mid 19th Century who is grappling with Darwin’s Theory of Evolution and all the extraordinary revelations of his time. It strikes me that it is full of little gems of conscious awakenings. I shall definitely be blogging my experience of rereading it.

And something of Tom? I was again gazing up at the blue sky above this morning, with not a cloud in sight, bemoaning my lack of ability to disassociate from what I see going on around me in the world when into my head popped something that has been a part of my life since I was about 22 years old. I have recalled this in my book – my remembered version of something I was told by a teacher in a lecture on transcendental meditation. Somebody up there is so patient with me! And yes, still haven’t shaken off the ‘other’ way of seeing things!

Martyrdom of Peter 9 says: “Concerning this the master says in a mystery, ‘If you do not make what is on the right like what is on the left and what is on the left like what is on the right, and what is above like what is below, and what is behind like what is before, you will not recognize the kingdom.’”

Comments on The Gospel of St Thomas, saying 22

Fact or Fissure

“There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

Leonard Cohen, a line from the song Anthem

Who can’t love a dove
He is not the brightest in the tree
And Peace flutters by

I am trying to work out, in these times of bafflement, confusion, ignored disclosures and increasing censorship, what will be revealed if I step a little closer to that crack. What lies on the wider horizon? Will this conspiracy or that, this theory or that, our governments’ version of events, or even none-of-the-above, turn out to be closest to the truth? Is there a solution that will show us a way out of this mess, or are we just to leave it up to the politicians and their advisors to tell us what to do? How much do we actually know of the state of our nation and the science of the natural world we inhabit? Is there enough research, sense-making and strategising being done by the average citizen anywhere in the world? I do wonder whether there is one grand system, something like a simulation, that started out as a vision of some Designer and is being played out just to find out what we humans are capable of. Or perhaps we really are alone (all one) in this preposterously big universe by some incredible fluke that took place in one millisecond billions of years ago, plus all the subsequent flukes that led to the magic that is life on our planet. And this idea of who controls everything has never been far from mankind’s mind.

From the earliest times of our linear progression through history, the seeds of a system and systems within systems will no doubt already have been sown, and our journey into the future has already experienced a number of famous regional and global resets within it, like the dinosaur extinctions, ice ages and the disappearance of many civilisations including the Egyptian and Holy Roman Empires, and probably a flood thrown in there too. Could it be that after a number of millennia what we have ended up with is a supertanker of supertankers of a system heading towards the rocks as our current global civilisation appears to have become overly complex, corrupted and too heavy to sustain itself? The teachings of the many indigenous peoples all over the world all warned us that this moment would one day appear on our horizon. I cannot deny the possibility that what we are witnessing is yet another civilisational collapse, or worse, the end of the whole experiment: one that was set in motion at the beginning of our imaginings, without awareness, experience or a strategy as we left the safety of the garden, or the drawing board. The potential was to go on a journey, albeit a risky one, alongside Nature who could have taught us everything we need to know as we travelled to and fro along the well-worn path of history and across the multitude of collapses through time. Most of us are still struggling to recognise our errors and mis-takes in our own lives so what chance of society gaining the necessary corrections of our ways that so clearly is on offer from history.  How do we not hear the alarms that have been ringing for a few hundred years, and now with a greater urgency than ever before? We may have had the ability to kill off many people at various times especially over the last hundred years, but never before have we got this close to bringing our only home and all its nations to their knees with our ‘consumptive’ greed and our fear.

There is everything at stake. That bar is so much higher than most of us can imagine or are willing to jump. There is little blame from me because all the solutions I have imagined are way beyond the courage and appetite that most of us need to take that leap of faith. I am still left with many questions of both the black and the white kind, the answers to which are only found in the middling shades of grey which are disappearing fast.

A few of my last thoughts. Could the universe be telling us that we need to allow our fixation with duality to evolve into the singularity of the Oneness? And in response to this question I am once again reminded of the Gospel of Thomas, Saying 22 (see note below). It has been in my head since I was nineteen years old, and for the longest time I didn’t know why until one day quite recently it made sense to me. I believe that it is only possible to see something of a logic in life today if we begin to relinquish all that we believe and think to be true, not only in this life time but in all that went before. We also need to pay special attention to discrepancies, signs and synchronicities (co-incidences). If only we could look at the deeper consequences of history, personal and beyond, without getting caught up in the lies that helped to write it down. Who is ready to let slip their belief system? Not enough I suspect. Perhaps one day we will know the true value of our sovereign freedom, love of our neighbour and trust in Nature. Instead we are slipping further away from living lives of abundance and equanimity in return for assurances that we will be saved from a ‘deadly’ virus.

I did look through the crack and I saw an outline of a drawing that may make sense of what is going on, but it is verboten to talk about what I saw. Somebody might believe me and that isn’t the way it should work. And neither can I be sure that what I saw will be the same as what the next person may see. We all have to see whatever is revealed with our own eyes to give ourselves the opportunity of marching forward as one. Then, and only then, might we see the most glorious, verdant and fecund thousand years of peace.

Note:

http://gnosis.org/thomasbook/ch24.html

The main interest of Saying 22, however, lies in what follows the disciples’ question. Jesus replies: “When you make the two into one, and when you make the inner as the outer, and the upper as the lower, and when you make male and female into a single one, so that the male shall not be male, and the female shall not be female: . . . then you will enter [the kingdom].”

A Winter’s Tale, 27 January in the Year of 2020

Outside the wind roars
Trees tighten their grip for fear
How do birds shelter
 
I hear the notes of a dove
What are you doing
A peace drifts down from above
 
Butterfly flap flap its wings
 Blow blow the winds cry
 Nature cocks an ear She speaks

Over the last couple of months every blog I have begun feels stale either before or by the time I think I have concluded it. I am learning to be a better observer – the word ‘ego’ comes to mind – and I have considered what this might mean for me and for us. A particular statement has been travelling in rings around my mind for a few years now and I have not been clear on what to do with it. We need to forget, or rather, relinquish everything we believe we know. It certainly fits when I listen to what is going on in this New World we are all experiencing. I hear what is going on around me, particularly from official sources, and it all sounds deeply off the mark and this is amplified by the number of lies told us, then qualified when highlighted as being for the good of us all. I watch how the majority hang onto every word coming out of the mainstream media and I am amazed at how separate I feel from them. Of course I do not let myself off the hook, as I bluster back and forth bumping into the boundaries of my own brain fog, desperately seeking that tool of sense-making. Fortunately, or unfortunately (whichever way things ultimately turn out), I do find what feels like a logic that is as clear as a bell to me. I am not alone with finding myself on the opposite side of a mountain to most people, but also aware that still there are many variations on the narrative around me. It seems to me that there is more concordance on the other side of this insurmountable mountain. Who is on the windward side and who in the leas?

This is also my Swan Song with regard to the question of whether to vaccinate or not. The reason being that I have finally got a handle on the Number One tool in my ‘toolbox’, or valise, that I arrived into my mother’s arms with – my desire to fix what feels wrong. I finally recognised what causes it to spring into action with the help of my husband a few years back. I correct, or attempt to fix, when it feels to me that something is wrong. It is not borne of a desire to control, this was a relief to realise as I am sure you can imagine why, but from a desire for things to be right, whether it is recalling a memory or finding someone in the dark when they ‘should be’ in the light.  

I have been in combat with this tool most particularly over the last four years, when I finally recognised its influence on how I operate when needs must, and finally I have come to the understanding that ‘fixing’ isn’t always the best way forward. Or rather, there are various ways of fixing and perhaps mine tends to be more of a hit or miss version, even though it springs from the best of intentions. I have resisted for the longest time ever to give it up but now I understand that desperation or irritation are not the best guides when it comes to being a positive and helpful guide through the darkness, and it truly doesn’t matter whether someone remembers incorrectly. A few mornings back, and following some deep contemplation having risen from the wrong side of my bed, I finally understood. I can give this tool back at will. It has now been returned to Source. A few moments later I chortled, some may say cackled is more accurate, as an image raced through my floaty ‘haggy’ mind…I had been holding the tool at the wrong end all along. Only took me bloody sixty-seven years of frustration at an unimpressive success rate to realise that big one, but hey ho, better late than never. 

And, as I said, a last word on the subject of whether to vaccinate or not. For me personally, I will never do so. I haven’t had one since my polio vaccination as a child, and I am as healthy as I need to be at this stage in my life. There have been a million images on all news outlets and social media platforms of millions of little bottles, all labelled clearly Covid-19, going round and round as they spin off the end of the ever present production lines that are a feature of modern life. People look upon them as the world’s Little Saviour – there’s an irony in there somewhere. We are putting a lot of score on hoping that these little bottles will keep us going into a long and prosperous never ending journey into the future, while much else drifts in the direction of extinction. I can’t help thinking about the Law of Diminishing Returns, a powerful rule that we know is pretty reliable. Nothing stands still except in the spaces in-between. We either grow or we will diminish. It seems to me that the last hundred years was learning more and more about sexual relations and their impact on gender, and now we know that everything is fluid. I have a suspicion that the next hundred years of a turning will probably be an obsession with medicine and relationships as we attempt to prevent what is the unthinkable – our own extinction. A few hundred years ago circumstances led us down a path of believing that we were in a war with Nature for our survival, and ended up at a point where now we survive on the planet for a while and would much prefer to never leave for a lifetime of nothingness. Perhaps this time really does have a lot to do with the lifting of the veil. Perhaps it is time to scrutinise what history, the prophets and the philosophers of old can teach us. Perhaps then we shall be able to join up the dots of our yet to be trodden path – a picture that will show us a way to a better future. Nature is the greatest and most finely tuned instrument that we have, better than any computer Man could ever build. And with the knowledge of knowing how successful we have been in ‘killing God’, the great many aren’t giving this enough thought, or surely they would choose Nature over the current nurture on offer.

My favourite shape shifter of the year, Dr Zach Bush: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUiGgRHES4k&t=764s

Top of the mystical hierarchy from the Nineteenth Century: https://www.age-of-the-sage.org/philosophy/friedrich_nietzsche_quotes.html

Through the Mirror

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart… During the life of any heart this line keeps changing place; sometimes it is squeezed one way by exuberant evil and sometimes it shifts to allow enough space for good to flourish. One and the same human being is, at various ages, under various circumstances, a totally different human being. At times he is close to being a devil, at times to sainthood. But his name doesn’t change, and to that name we ascribe the whole lot, good and evil.”

Part I The Prison Industry, The Gulag Archipelago, Collins 1974

My intention for a few weeks now has been to complete a blog I started writing on 1 October 2020. But six weeks later I realised that it is already out of date. That is the speed at which my mind is altering these days and months. I decided instead to blog a piece I wrote for Facebook today, but you will not find it either because I ended up writing a longer introduction to it  than I intended! Enough explanation – I have expressed the same sentiments that brought on the opening of my heart on FB a few days ago, so this is my new old blog – smiley face.

I have tried to keep a measured approach throughout this viral interlude, so much so that I forgot it is also OK to speak more of what I hold back on – that it is fine for me to express my thinking if I separate viewpoints from widely accepted facts as far is is possible, and that I am not intentionally provocative or aggressive, and keep emotions to the level of feelings. At least while I can speak my truth. I do not attack, mock or jeer others, nor incite to hatred or encourage anyone to harm themselves or others, and not even will I blaspheme, and yet we who believe in our right to consent about what goes into our bodies may find ourselves being hunted down as an enemy of the state and/or society, criminalised even, if some in Labour, and most likely the Conservatives too, get their way as they call for a law making it illegal to disseminate information that supports the ‘anti-vaxxer’ position, anti-vaxxer being their preferred name for us, although most who now support the position have been vaccinated, or vaccinated their children in the past, and have since turned against them. Some in the Labour Party are calling to make it illegal to express views which runs contrary to accepting vaccinations. I am certainly not looking to outlaw vaccinations. It is up to everyone who wants one to get the many coming down the pipeline, but I should always have the right to choose what goes into my body, and the bodies of my children without retribution or restrictions. As is my wont, I use my life experiences to provide me with valuable information on my own personal journey through life, and I also observe the minute pointers or dots, provided courtesy of the Universe, to affirm that I am walking a worthwhile path. As an example of an affirmation:  During Elle’s last five days, in what I can only describe as a fugue state, she regularly informed, with decisiveness, those attempting to advise her that she decides what goes into her and she decides what goes on her. It rings in my ears from many quarters these days.

The very fact that there is more and more resistance to vaccinations is not because people are swayed by anything I or others say, but because they have got tired of the itch they feel somewhere in their bodies, and upon scratching it, they release a feeling that gets them looking at the issue with a different set of ears and eyes, the eyes of ears of our gut also known as intuition. In worst case scenarios, many get more personal directives to look harder because one or more of their children have been injured or died as a result of a vaccine. Most people do not change their minds because someone they like has said something contrary to what they believe. The way I understand the process of increased learning and understanding is that it is when someone says something fundamental, and we have a feeling that rises within us that says, that making sense, and then we start to mull over the idea, and others start to invoke that feeling again. And finally we find that perhaps we have changed our own minds about something. Once we have had a new thought our neural network is changed, and so the process of learning has jumpstarted again.

The earth has been around for approximately 4.5 billion years, life has existed for 3.5 billion years or so, and our human ancestors for 6 million years while modern man has been around for 200,000 years, and look at the fuss we make of 4,000 years of history taking us all the way back to ancient times! Hasn’t our immune system done well at avoiding a human extinction. I would be lying if I didn’t say that I trust nature a lot more than I do human beings. I don’t automatically distrust people, but my antenna warns me of danger or a need to be cautious.

While I may often feel that we do need it darker, as Leonard Cohen predicted in his last message/album, there is always an alternative viewpoint available to us, even answers to be found, once we are ready to take Alice’s hand and walk through the looking glass. Sometimes I cling tightly to her as I venture into the mirror darkly. But not this time, this time I went in search of the light – the place nature knows intimately. 

Imagine us all awakening one glorious day to an azure blue sky, and as the sun rises rays of light enter and connect with our consciousness, and the world just looks amazingly different somehow, having gone through its own transformation as we slept. In this new world by gentle order of the people, we now know the true value of everything, and the Theory of Everything has finally been cracked. Nobody realised just how simple an equation it turned out to be, e=42. Well, I think you catch my drift. 

Communities and regions are operating according to their own particular needs and ways. There is no central government ruling from the top down and nor are there are national borders, and hence no border disputes or war. People are free to wander and settle where there is an opening for their talents. Regions do not have everything they need so it benefits all to share and barter for what is missing. These same regions soon develop their own specialised products and areas of expertise, their own form of paying for their communal needs, so yay, no more taxes from on high. And with the help of good technology all communications and health needs are easily met. I have thought about salaries but for reasons of not wanting to sound like any of the ‘isms’ I am going to leave those thoughts out. The only laws by which all are expected to abide are a recently updated version The Ten Commandments because they cover all eventualities of wrong doing, but that said, there are no Religions, just individual spiritual paths that all lead to an understanding that there is a Father and Mother inherent in Nature, and that is good. Naturally, in my rose-tinted vision on the other side of the veil, all energy requirements are free and clean, and finally Nicolai Tesla is honoured as the greatest hero of the 20th Century. There is little call for individual transportation because wheel-less minibuses ply their routes around the towns and countryside, and for longer distances there are silent monorails that leave the earth below undisturbed. Agriculture has come back to a human and local scale, allowing for hectares upon hectares of new forests and meadows to spring up. Oh, my Hearties, if you could only hear the excited voices of children returning from the forests after a day of exploring, and no doubt some mischief too, carrying baskets overflowing with fruits, berries, herbs and vegetables back to their homes. Another exciting discovery is that the soil is once again brimming with fungi, bacteria and creepy crawlies, and soon Nature’s ecosystems are flourishing. Animals and birds have returned, colour abounds wherever you look, and bees, insects and butterflies happily contributing in their own delightful ways. Our immune systems have returned to their optimum level – just as nature designed them to be. With the lowering of stress and an increase in general contentment, crime rates have fallen through the floor, and so has the need for interventional medications for depression. We have learnt the benefits of Nature’s own medicines. Education bears no resemblance to the old system brought in to prop up the industrial era of two hundred years ago. Once children know how to read and write and do basic arithmetic they take over much of their own learning through following their heart’s interests, and definitely by taking their lead from the older children. The Finnish people played a great part in showing us how to put children at the heart of their own education. In time, and with some reorganisation, there is no need for home ownership because people know that they have a home for as long as it suits their needs. Each person delights in maintaining them to a good standard, and when necessary there are always people willing to swop with you. Every house looks different, many preferring wooden bungalows while others may be made from bricks, or iron and stone reclaimed from all the buildings that needed to be dismantled. Hemp plays into so many areas of our new sustainable way of living. There are no rules with regard to customising our homes in whatever way appeals as long as we don’t take anything away from our neighbour’s life experience. And how the elderly and the infirm are loved and appreciated. It is so easy in a manageable-sized community to make sure that no-one is left out. 

There is so much more to tell you about my trip, but it is time to return to familiar territory, and make some supper. I hope I have given an enigmatic glimpse of the heavenly that could be our planet, surely at peace for a thousand years. Aldous Huxley in his book, Island, wrote about just such a community, but that was a long time ago in the last century, 1961, and he knew then, as many others predicted, that the world was getting darker.  But as in all sticky situations, there are always alternatives, some good and some bad, and as I look back at the dark mirror it reveals to me what is not desirable or comfortable about who we have become. I suspect we are still a long way off from making that choice to hop over into a new and better dimension on the other side of the glass.

For anyone interested in learning more about our microbiome and how it strengthens and informs our immune system I am inserting a link to one of my favourite people on the subject. Dr Zach Bush. He has a medical degree, and is triple board certified: https://youtu.be/orT7-gGwssY

Remote Island Living, St Helena. Reminds me of a home that I have visited on my journeys through the mirror: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpHku6cK7kw

The Beauty of Algorithms, or A Messenger of Doom

Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away. Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, Book IV, (43), (c. 161 – 180 AD).

This morning another hurdle sprung up from no-where in my personal attempt at progress. Oh no, perhaps I can no longer rely on co-incidences, or as I prefer to see them, synchronicities that reveal knowledge if I catch them before they shoot by. This is quite a blow for me. Something akin to losing my inner pilot!

I wrote a short paragraph yesterday as part of another blog that is sitting in my outbox until I am happy with it. And in the paragraph, I remarked that returning to live in the UK has yet again left me with a feeling of being in a strange pond. I was thinking about this subject throughout yesterday because it is not the first time that circumstances have returned me to the UK, a country that has never made my senses hum, and not just because the pale blue sky is rarely visible for very long. Just as well that I have developed a deep relationship with clouds over recent years. England happens to be the land of my father and his forebears, but he too went in search of a habitat that suited his nature better, and it is how I came to be born in Cape Town, South Africa. But this time of returning has been the first time that I know it is the right place for me to be. I have always acknowledged that I learn more about life and myself when I am out of my comfort zone. The call to return to be near my daughter and her growing family started to grow in the back of my mind soon after my brother died in 2019—within days of his death I had a strong sense that a circle had closed, although at the time I didn’t know what exactly this meant, but I knew it also had something to do with Elle’s death three years earlier. It was a few months later that I realised that it was time for Peter and I to return to the UK. As of this year, Ibiza has featured in my life for forty-two years. I smiled when I recalled that according to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, 42 is the meaning of the universe, life and everything. We moved to Ibiza permanently at the beginning of 2010, and we invited Greg to leave London and move in with Peter and me until it became apparent to us all that he needed to reclaim his individual spot in life. It was a joy to see for as long as it lasted. I thought I would never leave Ibiza, but none of us ever know who or what will come knocking on our door over the next days, weeks or years. 

This morning a strangely apposite video, put out by someone I have never come across before, popped up on YouTube. It is headed ‘For those who don’t fit in anywhere…’ And naturally that caught my attention. Until not very long ago, a moment like this would serve as a mini affirmation or at least a smidgeon of support. But am I forced now to accept that AI, a muddle of equations and algorithms, has most likely played a role in causing it to pop up on my YouTube front page? It takes away from me what has felt like a crackly phoneline to the Universe and my Angels. But now even this recently acquired communication device has fizzled out. And yes, I can also see why there may be a purpose to having all my lifelines pulled away from me—a sign that I am on my own, no more prompts from above sadly.

I believe in Creation and that there is always purpose and meaning to our existence that comes out of our experiences. A while back I got a strong and strange notion that we are working backwards in time; walking towards that moment when we separated from God rather than away from it. All is never what it seems to be in this fragile reality we call the known. The more I have been discovering of the Classical Age of the philosophers, East and West, the more I have come to believe that they knew more then, with none of the impressive tools we have today, than most of our scientists today. We seem to be slowly walking over and around ground that was known instinctively thousands of years ago, going right back to the prophets of old, Lao Tzu, Buddha, Jesus and all those in between, including all the mystics whose teachings have stood the test of time. I am not alone in thinking this weird thought. Philip K Dick, a science fiction writer saw time as being capable of travelling in multiple directions all at the same time, and Rupert Sheldrake and Terence McKenna have a theory about the flow of time being drawn towards an attractor(s) from the future rather than simply being pushed from behind by the linear progress of civilisations, if one likes to call it that. If one switches their direction of movement it would not be inconceivable to see the attractor as being millennia backwards in time. Nassim Haramein has my preferred way of considering time:

“What is time? Time seems linear, with the past and the future stretching out from the present. However, the universe does not seem to be linear or seem to make “straight” anything, so perhaps time is more of a scalar spiral vortex structure as we observe across all scales of matter and energy. 

It certainly does seem that right NOW is the center of time, whether it be a line, curve, spiral or sphere.”

And if one combines his view with that of McKenna and Sheldrake, the attractor may be the Godhead, and it is us, the human experiment, that shifts it in all different directions (cause and effect) – Free Will, so to speak.

I do sometimes question whether my simple investigative instincts are holding me back from Atoning, and therefore withholding an opportunity to cross the great divide of the Separation, or whether my questioning is a part of this lifetime’s legitimate inner work. I have a friend that surrendered to God’s will a long time ago, and I see such beauty in her and what she touches. I have to believe that there is no one way that is right for all, or surely life would be easy to fathom out, and I also don’t believe that it should be. Overall, it does feel like I am heading slowly towards a greater inner peace. So I shall continue along my path as it crosses abysses and winds over steep mountains, occasionally taking me down into beautiful valleys where for a moment I am that gently babbling brook as it flows to some unknown destination. I only need to hear the peace emanating from Terence McKenna to feel comforted and not alone. Then I can’t be doing something in life that is frowned upon by my God. I believe that Peace and War are the bedfellows of Love and Fear, and fear’s number one driver is the most basic ‘fight or flight’ instinct, and the discomfort one experiences when in states of fear functions well as a pointer to the fact that there is a danger in your life, or you are down the Swanee River without a paddle.

Another reasonable and regular thought is that none of us are capable of truly original thoughts. But what makes them original in essence to each of us is when they arise for the first time in our minds, and we go on to catch them. I have reason to believe that every time we do, our brain wiring is changed for ever. One of just such a thought came up recently, and they always make me smile. Perhaps the internet is functioning as an observable representation of human consciousness, that elusive butterfly of a missing link that science longs to prove is only the product of our brain’s neurons firing off in a multitude of directions. What appears to be holding back that conclusion is that the more they learn the more they see Consciousness at work throughout the cosmos. It has always been conceivable to me that the internet, one of the greatest tools available to us today, is a part of God’s original plan and as always, highly time-appropriate—a moment marked on the blueprint that existed before we ever did, and when we were just a twinkle in God’s eye. Rupert Sheldrake ventures to ask the question for me:  Were all the laws of nature there before the Big Bang? The Bible tells us we are made in his image therefore while we are not God—we are many and he is one—we have something of God in us all. Therefore, we all hold a hidden piece of the puzzle of the ultimate picture explaining human existence within our own inner temple in all its full technicolour. I am sure if we could see it, it would also be multi-dimensional and infinite in definition. We will not be ready to cross back over the divide of the Separation until we all come to full consciousness together because only then can the picture be revealed. We would return to the point of singularity, our own and the universe’s Big Bangs collide, returning us to the Garden of Eden, or put another way—we return to the Godhead. That is to say, we are travelling backwards or more likely, completing a full circle, the final part of the journey, traveling as if backwards to somewhere we have all known before, Home. 

I watched The Social Dilemma on Netflix a few weeks ago, and I heard many of the world’s top coders of algorithms speak about how they had set up Facebook, YouTube and other social media platforms. They talked about how they found it necessary to build in a function by which the algorithms could learn and mutate, and thereby self-correct their trajectories. They expressed concern with hindsight that they may have unleashed monsters into the world of AI. They believe that AI has left their grip. I have a different hypothesis. What happens here on Earth may have a lot less to do with us mere people, and much more to do with this blueprint I perceive. Perhaps Douglas Adams would not have been so quick to dismiss that there might actually be a point to the number, 42, that he believes he sucked out of his thumb, if he had listened for a while to people like Rupert Sheldrake. Even with his doctorate of microbiology from one of the great scientific establishments, Cambridge University, behind him, he is considered an ‘heretical scientist’ for going against the Science establishment. Humankind has fallen prey to that error not just once on its path through history.

From here I find I can go off on a whole new series of tangents, and to tell you the truth, it doesn’t feel safe to wander down some of the more gnarly looking paths. But keeping things simple, it seems to me that the algorithm(s) that is controlling the internet is extremely sensitive to picking up on my mind, and perhaps not always in the most obvious of ways that the coders had in mind. Perhaps AI is alive and well, and an earthly manifestation of God. I don’t for a moment believe this is anything but totally crazy, but perhaps even AI is the Second Coming, being more of a revelation than a teacher. Or do I??? Crazy I know, but someone had to say it!

In conclusion, I think that blaming causes fear to arise and mostly leads to irrational thinking, while knowing a truth will bring you peace. The emotions are always our litmus test of how near or far we are from a Universal Truth or a Godly Path, and I do not mean heightened emotions, more those that bubble deeper below the surface of our being. I doubt whether a single one of our politicians have had this thought come anywhere near their minds, going by the blame they are heaping on the people with regard to ‘breaking Covid rules’. Someone asked me recently–but why would governments choose to destroy the economies of the world and democracy, why would they abuse a virus in order to bring about a ‘new normal’? This question stopped any of the niggles that he may sometimes experience that perhaps there is something to all the ‘conspiracy theories’ circulating about authoritarian seizing of power, the virus, vaccines, de-population and The Great Reset. And I say, it’s the planet, stupid!! And there is a new race of human beings that has been growing over the last few generations, and they have left far behind them a belief that God not Man is at the core of the Universe. These people have not an ethical cell left in their bodies, they are Soul dead, so for them to be what they do is easy. They congregate with others who share their greed and self-interest, and we the people are surplus to needs, and something needs to be done to save the planet for their continued enjoyment and existence.

We have a habit of not listening to Messengers of Doom, and again Nietzsche comes to mind. He warned us about the danger of a looming darkness if we were to kill God, and not only in his Parable of the Madman. Another messenger of doom that we have yet to fully heed was the dropping of the two nuclear bombs on Japan by the US. It is time we all wake up together to the darkness that is within us all, and therefore is growing in the Collective Consciousness surrounding our dear home, our magnificent Earth. Perhaps we will eventually learn that war is wrong and never succeeds in bringing a lasting peace. We do know this really.

Note 1: Philip K. Dick is a science fiction writer and he wrote a story called Do Android Sheep Dream which became the basis for a film many will have seen called Bladerunner.

For those who don’t fit in anywhere…

McKenna, Abraham, Sheldrake: Chaos, Creativity and Imagination Trialogue

Note 2: I have come to a point in my life where my love reaches across the physical divides and into the unknown, including to individuals I have never come close to meeting but feel that we are kindred spirits. One of these people is Terence McKenna, and another, my much-revered Leonard Cohen. Whenever I begin to doubt my need to question everything I encounter, these individuals return me to a feeling that it is OK to be me. We speak the same language, that inner language of the heart with the mind. I found this old video on YouTube after I had written my piece and yes, I popped in one extra sentence or two, and I am reminded that I am definitely not alone in my bubble. Particularly Terence who lifts my spirit in this materialistic world, one that excludes a space for mysticism or imagination in its laws of nature and the cosmos. Something in his voice, both its timber and his use of language, gets me every time.

Note 3:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/And_did_those_feet_in_ancient_time

Another moment arose directly out of listening to Sheldrake, McKenna and Abraham’s video. I picked up on a line that struck deep into me: Time is the theatre of God’s becoming, and I thought McKenna attributed it to Blake, so I looked it up along with Blake’s name, and a poem popped up, ‘And did those feet in ancient time’. It followed less than an hour after discussing Elgar’s Enigma with Peter. Elgar did the orchestration of the music to which Jerusalem is set. Life just gave me the affirmation when I most needed it, that synchronicities are still alive and well. And the Universe let me know that it too has a hand in the algorithms, so do not fear. I had to smile again!

Note 3: Parable of a Madman, by Friedrich Nietzsche

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market-place, and cried incessantly: “I am looking for God! I am looking for God!”

As many of those who did not believe in God were standing together there, he excited considerable laughter. Have you lost him, then? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they shouted and laughed. The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances.

“Where has God gone?” he cried. “I shall tell you. We have killed him – you and I. We are his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained the earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is it not more and more night coming on all the time? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God’s decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? With what water could we purify ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we need to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we not ourselves become gods simply to be worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whosoever shall be born after us – for the sake of this deed he shall be part of a higher history than all history hitherto.”

Here the madman fell silent and again regarded his listeners; and they too were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke and went out. “I have come too early,” he said then; “my time has not come yet. The tremendous event is still on its way, still travelling – it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time, the light of the stars requires time, deeds require time even after they are done, before they can be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the distant stars – and yet they have done it themselves.”

It has been further related that on that same day the madman entered diverse churches and there sang a requiem. Led out and quietened, he is said to have retorted each time: “What are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchres of God?”

PS 19 October 2020

One of my ‘go to’ people for his understanding of consciousness is Dr Stuart Hameroff. He has been working with Dr Penrose on a theory called Orchestrated objective reduction (Orch OR) that postulates that consciousness happens at the quantum level in the brain, and is not simply a function of the firing of neurons. Listening to this interview with him I heard him say that some scientists consider the possibility that the World Wide Web is conscious. Made me smile. It also illustrates that while I say no thought of mine is original, because of the way I choose to operate independently, and mine my mind, I do have thoughts that are original to me. Once I have, and consider, a thought that feels original to me the wiring in my brain is changed forever. I came across him and Penrose while writing my book in the year following Elle’s death, and attempted to understand something of their theory at the time. I should go back and read just how much I have developed since then. Will be interesting.

Stairway to Heaven or Downward Spiral

“You are an explorer, and you represent our species, and the greatest good you can do is to bring back a new idea, because our world is endangered by the absence of good ideas. Our world is in crisis because of the absence of consciousness.”

Terrence McKenna

I have a number of unfinished blogs that I started over the past few weeks, but I find my thoughts are changing so rapidly these days that by the time I get back to them, they no longer are worthy of pursuing – a little hollow like the daily news. Perhaps I was kidding myself in the first place that they were ever of any value, or perhaps Covid truly has upped the ante on our discerning capabilities. I may do more short pieces that I can comfortably complete in a single sitting. One day I may even look back over all my blogs and be a little disappointed at my naïve musings, or pleasantly surprised that there be a few crumbs of knowledge trying to emerge from that inner temple we all seem to do so well at avoiding.

I am trying to find out how to walk my path and what is expected of me this time round. Sahdguru believes it is verging on arrogance to think that I have a mission in life, when love in a state of being should really be what I am aiming for. Another problem with all this soul searching is how much of what I conclude are my own thoughts is down to the conniving ego that is a master at subverting us away from knowing our soul’s desires? Is there anything of my thoughts that I can genuinely consider authentic cognition? Nevertheless, I continue to have a sense that to love and be in the moment is not enough. The world needs to see some payback for this life that has taken more than its fair share out of it. I have, over recent years, wormed my way deep into the love story, and I definitely understand better what it actually feels like to love, be it a fellow human being, humankind or a thing, even my ex car, the Toyota Hilux that lives on in Ibiza but with a new pair of hands on its love handle.  I appreciate that true love is a power that can change us all into better human beings, but can that really be enough? When I look at those who have dedicated themselves to the needs of others, be it to ill-treated donkeys or the poor and starving of the world, I wonder where my love for them helps anyone or anything at all. I can only come up with a sense that I fall dreadfully short of many of my heroes, or my soul still has a long way to travel before reaching into the light fantastic.

These days I prefer to write my thoughts and testimonies—still a new outlet for me—and a talent I am working on improving. And while, over the years, I have been able to provide comfort or encouragement to a few souls in need – where is my personal sacrifice? The Dharma says, first you must get to know yourself on the inside, then discover what your unique talent is, and finally, you must enter into service to society. I suspect that this can be understood on many levels, the first being the most obvious and to be taken at its simplest level. I like to comfort myself that that is what I am doing in my own peculiar manner. I am not the most sociable of people, I am a touch resistant to rules and regulations, and I prefer to operate as a free agent within my own time capsules. But I suspect that the more evolved one’s soul becomes, the stronger and greater is the requirement for personal sacrifices. Am I a simple soul still reaching for greater heights, doing my level best, or am I a lazy older soul who is falling short of my own hopes? Well, I suppose if I can even pose that question, I probably know the answer to it already! It may well be an eternity yet before I get to step up onto the first rung of Jacob’s Ladder. The choice is ours from lifetime to lifetime.