The Void will drive men to insanity…

All I remembered is that I had referenced Z0265 in the blurb on the last Channel Z0135. I popped this channel into a text-to-voice reader, a very nice one at I might add, and wasn’t sure at first why I picked this channel to do next. Then I heard the first blurb that piqued my interest…

… It is the very void that drives the formation of all created reality. It will not go away. Nothing can mask it forever, not drugs, not policemen, not prisons. It will drive men to insanity. An antidote must be found, and we do not want to use the c word, but that is the answer.

Many, maybe most addicts, talk about two things that I bet are probably deeply related. One, “hitting a bottom”, which in my case I’ve discovered is actually just a ledge in a bottomless pit, and two, “the void within”. The latter is sometimes referred as a hole in our heart, or some sort of emptiness that drives us to do anything to fill it, but, it can’t be filled. It’s like adding nothing to nothing … mathematical operations on zero. And I wonder, are addicts people who are gifted with a special sensitivity to “the void within”? Or maybe just a special unwillingness to deal with whatever that something is (or isn’t, as I’m arguing here) that drives us to use?

But it was the paragraph that prompted my original memory of a channel long ago. I remembered something about heaven and hell being formed by us on the inside and projected into the world…

The answer is that the world’s problems outside us are actually problems within us. The formation of heaven and hell start within; only after some reflection do the interior constructs find themselves in the supposed outside world, where they wreak pleasure or havoc respectively.

The story of what actually happened is more fitting to what’s going on in my life and why I’m writing this blog.

Six weeks ago, I was visiting my parents and a bunch of books had been piled into their guest bedroom. The first night, I picked one from one stack and opened at random to Milton’s Paradise Lost to read before bed. I read very little. The language was overwhelmingly poetic for me and I don’t even know all the words (Aonian?), but the opening did strike me:

Fast by the Oracle of God; I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventrous Song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ AONIAN Mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime.

Like a mini-Milton, I thought, I too feel like I am embarking on some great, unknown journey, with intention to explore things unattempted yet. The “c” word in my case. And in the preamble of the book, it mentioned he was older than most when he began. Like me. But that’s about as far as I got.

The next night, I picked up another random book from a different pile, opened it and there I was again on a page of Milton’s Paradise Lost, although in this case it wasn’t the actual book but rather a synopsis and analysis. But still, what a weird coincidence. And I still didn’t get into it (and still haven’t for that matter).

At home, I started listening to a podcast of it, thinking “The Universe Has Spoken” or something like that and with Satan appropriately voiced by my favorite villain voice, Ian McDermod, best known as Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, I managed to get through about an hour. One line which I had heard before is “Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven” and I think I’m going to use the opposite of that when I apply for a custodial position in a school this weekend (I’d rather serve in heaven then reign in heaven, although a front-line customer service rep at an outsourcer is hardly a reign.) “Hey smarty pants! Your broom is ready!” Ouch, but that’s the position I’ve created for myself. Now that I’m in hell, can heaven be created from the fire and ash? Remember that great cartoonist Gary Larson?


A few days later, my Dad died. Then the funeral. Then finally, I published my first blog and that same day, Tanya became my first follower. I looked at her website a few days later and her recent post really popped out at me. It, too, was on John Milton with the quote about Heaven and Hell being a state of mind. (Tanya’s Blog on Milton’s Paradise Lost) Too weird! Tonight, I decided to look at her blog and enjoyed a poem she had written (poets have such talent! I’m a word grunt), and re-looked at the Milton post. It had a “you may also be interested in…” blog on Male Suicide and *gulp* it’s been a bad week, yes, you can guess what’s been on my mind. As far as the outside world is going on, I feel I’m getting the “old, useless, unwanted, unneeded” vibes from the universe, but, is this really a self-created test on my willingness to listen to and live by my own words?

I had already recorded (and flubbed in several places) Channel Z0265. I remembered Mark’s name (in the original channel written ten years ago, we didn’t remember his name, so we used “Steve”). And I remembered tonight, while recording, a moment during the original channeling from ten years ago. “Now we are envisioning some sort of Jungian archetypal library existing within the visualizing portion of our mind. This type of channeling could be very powerful indeed…” I generally don’t visualize while awake. Fleeting glances here or there. But in this channel, while the channel was dictating and I was typing its’ voice, I found myself standing in a really large old-university library. I went up to one of the shelves, pulled down the book and could read it, just like in real life. Imagine a channeler who could do that? Find those incredible books and transcribe them for us!

This week, in my doldrums, I was surfing YouTube and on there came across Amadeus. One take caught my attention. Salieri was commenting on Figaro and said “God was speaking through this little man.” In another scene, he was imagining (we need a good word for audio-izing …. uhmm … image to imagine to imagining, sound to soundine to soundining) … he was soundining a script and said it was like Mozart was taking dictation.

Oh my gosh, I just remembered a weird dream from many, many years ago. I couldn’t see or feel anything. I could only hear. And I was hearing an amazing, well, it wasn’t a sonata. I remember thinking while listening to this amazing music, “Wow. This is what Mozart would have written for the piano had he lived ten more years.” The music was a more mature, seasoned and dark Mozart-like sound. As my vision cleared and I came-to in the dream, I realized I was the one playing the music. I looked out at the massive audience sitting in rapture and I flubbed a big mistake. That startled me and I refocused back on the performance with the only thought of something like, “Well, if I was playing it before, I must know it, so I might as well keep playing now as if I do.” And I did.

Yesterday morning, right before waking up, I didn’t know I was dreaming. I thought it was reality. I was looking at something like a beautiful book made out of very stiff lace-like material. It would “pop-up” as the pages turned, like those children’s 3D books or those new, expensive greeting cards you see advertised on Facebook. I was moving to dismantle the book, like I used to do to precious books while tweaking here in real life, and I said to my dream self “Stop! Don’t!” and I didn’t.

Are our dream-selves and dream-lives something like an alternate reality, perhaps a type of simultaneously occurring reincarnation? Dreams take place “here and now” and yet its clearly not the here and now of our waking life. Is “here and now”, or as a previous posted channel said, “the place-moment of here-now” more profound then we realize? If, at any time, we can say “I am me”, even though the me, and the I in I am are not the same, is that a type of eternity?

For what it’s worth, it’s taken all week, but I’ve come back to my senses, at least a little bit. I got an application for a Peer Recovery Coach training program off, I’m going to ask our Prayer Leader at church to write a recommendation on Sunday, I’m looking forward to a job search tomorrow, and I got this little blurb written. If Mozart was a little man, then I’m an insect. But that doesn’t seem so horrible.

At lunch I was biking up the bike trail past a spot where I nearly ran over a wolf spider over a year ago. That spider was so intent on saving its life and living another moment, that I felt a huge wave of compassion. For a spider! Those icky things we generally crush and stomp on. I wanted him/her = them … I wanted them (singular) … I wanted them to live! I didn’t want to crush the life out of them.

If God is truly infinitely large, then we are in comparison the smallest of the small and the littlest of the little. But if a spider feels their life is valuable and worth saving and worth living, then why shouldn’t I take their lead and value mine and make it worth living? I’m feeling emotional for the first time all week, and tears are running down my face. To think I saw a life worth living in a spider and that has become a moment of meaning for me. Yes, indeed, it does seem that heaven and hell are properties created by our mind. Thank you, Tanya, Amadeus, Salieri, Figaro, Mozart, Mary, Dylan, Steven, Mark and Brad. Thank you all.

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