The dusky cry of a hidden owl
wells across the night.
My sight hosts visions both foul
and fair.
Despite the urgent need to move,
fascinated, I stare,
enchanted and soothed.
I might have wasted all the night
if not this fright,
(I’m certain)
of the Thing behind the curtain.
The Beast of beasts darts out of the woods
and I see through the trees
it is me.
As I stood
helplessly.
It is sad, is it not? That our lot and our destiny, brings us misery as the price we pay to love each day? Are we asking too much? Now we reach out and touch the faces, the traces that hardly exist in the mist that is Mind and always we find that the ones who we loved now are gone.
Philosophy; religion; science. These are but a few of the systems developed over the last ten-thousand years or so in our bid to figure out who we are and why we are here.
Are we alone or are we surrounded by spirits? Is there one God or many gods? Or is there no God at all? Are we simply animals? Colonies of cells? Cosmic accidents? Do we have a purpose? Why does the universe exist in the first place? Is consciousness an illusion? Is there life on other planets? Is the universe infinite?
Most people will take a peek into this fun-house of the mind at some point during their lives. Many will be overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of the mystery. They will back away instead and concentrate on living at the familiar material level. This works fine for the young and healthy. It will only become a burden in old age, when family and friends begin to sicken and die. When they themselves start to feel the chill of the grave reaching out for them. With little choice and less time, they often turn back to the religion of their childhood where they are received with open arms and open collection plates. Grim business, aging in ignorance.
On the other hand, some people will feel the desire to understand what is going on here and become fascinated by the challenge of figuring it all out.
The Puzzle of all puzzles! Where to begin? Ancient writings and ideas? History and archaeology? Astronomy? Cosmology? Physics? Mathematics?
What needs to be satisfied? The mind or the heart? Logic or intuition? Should we continue to build upon the foundations already laid down by others or strike off in a new direction entirely? Is the journey itself the goal?
Perhaps we are fools to even try. Are we like a colony of ants? Do we dwell in our tiny nest, surrounded by vast beings and constructs that will always remain incomprehensible to our fragile and limited little minds?
So many questions! So many directions!
Does the quest to Know what is really going on lead to inevitable insanity? (Many who are familiar with this writer might say so.)
Why do we find ourselves searching for the Truth in a world of Mystery?
Why aren’t we born already Knowing?
Aha!
Why indeed…?
The light that flickers underneath
can make you laugh until you weep
so lift the basket when you can
to show you’re not afraid of them.
They’ll flutter to your merry flame,
then scream and burn and lose their names.
No more to flit across the night,
leaving just the pure, hot Light.
“You best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner… you’re in one!”
So says Captain Hector Barbossa in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I have rarely enjoyed a Hollywood line more than this one. It’s creepy. It’s ironic. It’s humorous. But most of all, it’s true.
Once upon a time, (like you perhaps?) I believed myself to be a single individual of an advanced ape-like species living in a solid, somewhat clockwork universe. I say “clockwork” because this existence seemed regulated by chain-reactions and set in a framework called Time. I say “somewhat” because the whole thing was always a little fuzzy around the edges. Like I was being forced to concentrate on a single character in a play I had not written. I had a beginning that I could not remember and would face an ending that I could not predict. Sound and fury, signifying nothing and rounded with a sleep. (Sorry. Bard-o moment!)
Just about every religion and belief system in the world holds to the idea of some kind of afterlife. Heaven or hell; reincarnation; tunnels and white lights. Even some atheists express a hope that their “energy” might continue on in some different form.
Most people know they are going to die. Since very few of them know what will happen to them afterwards, they avoid thinking about it. There is fear. There is hope. But mostly, there is ignorance.
When I was a young man and newly Enlightened, I would drive my friends crazy with my detachment. More than once they feared me suicidal because I would so often give away my possessions. “Dude,” they would say, “you need to come down to earth and quit trying to see everything from God’s point of view!”
So I tried. I walked the common path. Son; student; worker; husband; father. Many adventures, few regrets. However, as Oliver Holmes once so rightly observed, “A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.”
I am no different or better than any other single individual of this advanced ape-like species. I’ve merely climbed a little higher than most so my horizon goes a bit farther out. I can tell you what I see out there though. There is no death. There is no afterlife. There is no spirit world that follows this physical world. There is only the spirit world. An endless Dream where you call the shots (or don’t) according to your own will. What happens when you “die”? Whatever you want.
How scary is that?
So you best start believing in ghosts, Dear Reader… You are one!
As I was driving home from work the other morning (I work at night), I passed a crow perched upon, and devouring her breakfast. For just a split second, I saw what she really was. I also saw what the roadkill really was. If you don’t know what I am talking about, I cannot tell you.
All things in this world are projections or emanations of a Reality that is higher than this one. By that, I mean more real. Unfortunately, most people are not able to understand what I mean by this. They can read the words. They can think the thoughts. But they cannot comprehend what they have no experience of.
We mystics are reduced to language that is senseless in the ears of the uninitiated. There are two types of humans in this respect; each considering the other to be absolutely insane. The difference is that you can be cured. (This being addressed only to the mehums or muggles, of course.)
Parables. Even old Yeshua (“Josh” to us Englishers) could not directly point out the Truth. He had to describe the “kingdom of heaven” as being “like” this and “like” that. He couldn’t just say it. It’s very nature prevents it from being amenable to logic. It is quite literally senseless.
There is another type of madness you will see among the Illuminati. (By which I mean Enlightened people in general, not some secret cabal of power-mad manipulators who live in the imaginations of the fearful.) It is a seeming coldness or lack of concern when confronted by situations that most would find distressing. Death; sickness; pain; war. It seems even worse than that lack of empathy that defines the psychopath. Here is a person that can laugh at death because he actually thinks it’s funny.
It’s not really madness though. It is the result of the sure Knowing (as opposed to merely believing) that death is not the end. Relatively tragic? Yes. Ultimately so? Not at all. The fact being that each of us chooses the precise time and manner of our exit. We are our own playwrights. We see that our true identity is what is called the “Higher Self” among certain circles of lower selves. So rest assured that if a Master giggles while you are killing him, he’s not being crazy. (He may just be laughing at what your reaction will be when he takes his revenge from “beyond the grave”.)
Illumination is not the death of self. It is rather, the discovery that there is no self. To be willing to consider this however, requires that the desire to know the Truth be stronger than the desire to exist. You can’t lose your soul, but you won’t Know that until you try.
The kingdom of heaven is like Abraham sacrificing Issac.
So who was the crow really? What was the corpse upon which she fed really? They were symbolic representations of Things that are deeper (and darker) than we are generally able to see. Things we cover with cartoon cutouts because we are unready or unwilling to perceive them directly. What I saw cannot be described in any meaningful way using words but that may be just as well. Shit was lovecraftian.
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén
