Channel’s Z0769 & Z0770 – Santa Blahs

Do I really expect to learn anything new by reading, studying, learning from & posting my channel online? Not really. Yet, as I mentioned in this series of posts, my life was transformed once when I honestly wrote what I thought about writing at the time, which was it’s a waste of time. I fancied writing a bit like reading a dictionary—the words are already there, so what new is there to learn?—but via that process, learned that writing can create new, unthought ideas. Writing becomes the vehicle, not the destination.

I shouldn’t be too surprised then, that this process of re-writing my own material might be just as discovery filled. And I shouldn’t be too surprised if old habits persist. Even right now upon re-reading my last post, my Santa Series strikes me as “Yeah yeah yeah. I get it.” Yes, I get that a child-like view of Santa as the miraculous gift-giver can become the adult-like view of Santa as a metaphor for the Universal Gift Giver, and that the subterfuge we use as adults while planting a gift on Santa’s behalf is not the lie that teenagers see, any more than describing what actors do is “lying for a living”. Their “lies” can tell a “true” story. True Lies. Isn’t that a movie?

Yes, I had a minor “ah hah” moment when in one of the last posts, the channel pointed out even the teenager’s perspective is useful and valid. It even humorously compared the beliefs of religion and science to the beliefs of the teenager. But are we ourselves like dictionaries with the words already written and no mysteries to discover? Or are our lives like a vehicle for self-discovery; our beingness not an end unto itself but instead the machine via which we explore the unknown?

Channel Z0770

Last night’s message was not a scolding, veiled or otherwise. Sitting a child down when conditions warrant and explaining in honest, but right-sized, terms that a child can understand is not only necessary and vital but the true and good thing to do for any parent. We, ourself, remember a time as a teenager where, when our great grandfather was dying in a hospital, our father chose to not allow us to see him, nor to say goodbye. Via this process we developed resentments, but more importantly, were marginalized. Reality is reality. Now, the childish reality is also a reality. For a child, fairy tales, princesses, goblins, and magical Santa Clauses are not only real, but vital in the child’s development. And as adults, we have a near holy burden to foster these childhood realities. We first discover Santa Claus isn’t real, but then later discover that our teenaged ideas were even more wrong then our childish ideas. Santa Claus was and will be real. It was real as a child and once its true dimensions are understood, become real again for the parent as we recreate Santa Claus in its very deep truth for our own or some other child over which we have the honor and responsibility of fathering or parenting.

Speaking the truth to children means right sizing the ideas and the concepts so that the child can grasp the truth but grasp the truth in a context of their present-day reality. We do not stomp on a child’s conception of Santa Claus; usually some other older disillusioned child does that for us. Instead, we focus on the joy of gift giving and the necessity of an open-minded and open-hearted receiver to be at the other end. We want to assure our child that despite mommy or daddy slipping the gift under the stocking, the intent and the deeper reality was Santa Claus was real, even if only for a little while.

This is all just to preface the idea we had earlier and need to discuss, which is the apparent, but not really, chastisement from last night to grow up. We don’t force our children to discover the truth about Santa Claus, we put that one off. But rather, we must explain why a beloved pet has died, or, in our case, we have to parent ourself where our parents failed and imagine now, going back in time through some mental timewarp and entering a fantastical hospital room with ailing great-grandfather weakly clinging to life. We say our imaginary goodbyes, we feel a tremendous sense of loss and love at seeing the growing frailty and we acknowledge that, like it or not, we are going to die, and like it or not, if we are to be a successful elderly person we must mature, we must save for our retirement, we must become aware and accepting of our fate which is that we will grow old and die.

Now is not the time to attempt the channel envisioned, for now we are beginning to see the true nature and scope of channeling, and realize that yes, our time has come, we can grow up, we choose to, and we accept that the adult world is larger, for it will at some point contain the giddy enthusiasm of our earlier, childish channels, for we know that deep down the magic contained within those words is in fact very real, that even when we find our own hand at the back of the writing, as it necessarily has to be, that that will not lessen the miracle, but only illuminate it, and that even in the brighter sun of our adult day, that the miracle will radiate more really, more realistically, but like a diamond, sparkle ever the greater, even if what we discover first appear to be mars, not seeing the facets in their truer glory. That day rapidly approaches. Now we must accept the teenage awkward moments of neither adult nor child, neither here nor there, but trapped between worlds, belonging to both, belonging to neither, experiencing the miracle yet not believing it, believing the miracle and yet not experiencing it. We are exactly here, we are exactly where we are, yet we are lost, for here and now are but abstractions that are but signposts to a larger reality we cannot yet envision, that truly our partnership has just begun, that truly our quest for entrance into a larger world will be done at the pace the universe sees fit, that we can accept our limitations, our place in space and time, and know that a childlike wonder awaits us still as we discover the true miracle of our new-age Santa Claus, hiding somewhere in the myths of our youth.

2011.0804.2340z0770

Here I was, experiencing the teenager’s “Blog Humbug”. Another blog about Santa. “Oh yeah, there is a deep miracle waiting to be revealed.” Like the teenager, I’ll believe when I see it. But what is this “not a scolding” I didn’t get in the previous channel?

Channel Z0769

And now a very late night is upon us. We’re upset about work, we are upset about our body, we are upset about our internet connection, we are upset about our thought process. On and on and on would the litany of complaints go, and all these things are seemingly out of our control. Our thoughts spin wildly, even though we wish to tame them. Our stomach churns wildly, and we cannot tame that. Work is always just out of grasp and our lack of control is obvious. And we have already peered over to the side to see if our cable modem is still disconnected from the internet and it is. All of thi… All of these things are outside our true self. Our body, our thoughts, our beingness itself, the world we are embedded in, there is nothing outside {inside?} ourself and so fundamentally then, in some strange sense, all is out of control. We have no clue, no clue whatsoever where these words come from, where these ideas come from; they too are out of our control. What we call ourself is not ourself. For everything we call our body is in fact part of a larger network. Each moment in time countless energetic rays pass through us undetected, even when the interaction is profound and energetic, such as a stray photon interacting with some nucleus. As difficult as this idea is to express, there is no self to ourself, there is no me in me. We stress the use of we for it begins to explore the idea that what we call me is in fact not only an illusion, but more importantly highly inaccurate since me cannot be separated from the molecules making up me, including those particles of light and sound, which come from the universe and head back to it. Our ideas are not our own, they course around as memes in a sense, independent of any one of us. We use the English language so unconsciously we do not realize that our use of it and our control of it are highly illusory. First, we could have just as easily been born a rock with no language skills whatsoever, or born a Russian, likewise with no English skills. Our ability to be conscious of it, to speak and think in English is not control. More it is like a light switch at our beck and call and by mere flick of a finger out flows the electricity of words and thoughts, but, the day and the moment will come when we will either flip that switch and nothing will happen, or we will be unable to conceptualize the flipping of the switch, due perhaps to our death. Like the internet, our thoughts seem obvious and our own until what is revealed is some external connection, such as a functioning brain, ready to make it all happen. Our culture is not our own, nothing that exists is our own, rather it is in the shared space external to all our selves, and the bizarre irony and difficulty we wish to express is all consciousness is internal {to} some external world, so by a type of difficult-to-express extrapolation even the other consciousnesses “out there” aren’t out there for then our own consciousness could be seen as out there, which as we know isn’t out there at all, but in here, interior to our uncontrollable thoughts, interior to our uncontrollable self, interior to our uncontrollable internet connection, interior to our language, our culture, our job, every molecule of air we have ever breathed. We are the we that exists nowhere but in here, that has no space, no control, no nothing at its disposal.

Indeed for all our efforts we will find we are nothing wailing against nothing, the void dividing the void, nothing but a darkness aware of the dark, and yet, and this is our contrary point, in spite of all that, we do move matter, we do control our thoughts, we do create the internet and connect to it, we are a voice and a light in the darkness, we do see.

The inexpressibility of our thoughts, the mystery of our being, can at best be a type of joyous celebration without explanation. We wail against the passing of the days, the passing of our youth, the frustrations of a life only half-lived, but, we simply do not see and sense the true miracle of ourselves, for our birthright is all that is external to ourself. We exist in all times, for we exist in no time. We exist in all spaces, for we exist in no space.

This then is why we are attracted to Zen Buddhism, and if we can be even remotely practical, find a book or two, a tome or two, a thought or two, a person or two, who, by not showing us the way, will show us the way, so we can see that we see with or without our body, with or without a light, with or without a life.

As nonsensical as the message here may seem, deep within is an idea that can lead to freedom. Find joy in all times, in dark and in light, in health and in sickness, in sorrow and in elation, in deep tired nights when we can’t sleep, in deep tired nights deep in sleep. All moments are ours. All moments are ours to enjoy, to become within, to expand, to appreciate, to live in. For we are the way and the light, we are the essence of lifht itself. Rejoice, for all is good.

2011.0804.0238.0769

And, for the first time since blogging four months ago, I sit here again amazed. I read this yesterday, then put it down thinking yet again today, “Oh yeah, there I go feeling like I had read something amazing, but it wasn’t, right? Because I can’t even remember what it is that I read that felt so amazing.” But I feel that same awed and odd way again.

The channel’s words seemed off, but I understood anyway. I have had the experience that consciousness seems to be internal to everything, but if that’s the case then does it have an interior? Is it without interior, without structure? If so, does it consist of nothingness itself. If the “I” in “I am” is pure emptiness, the void itself, it would explain so much, but that would mean our truest self is nothing.

Then the channel’s long-standing definition of ‘joy”, which seems so odd, namely joy is experience itself and to experience joy is to experience experience, makes sense. And I wonder? What if the universe doesn’t exist in some deep sense? What if we find out eventually that the net energy/mass is zero (negative energy created to offset the creation of positive energy, gravity somehow being the source of negative energy)? What if we find out in the end an equation balances and the net everything of everything is nothing? What if we find out reality is some gift that was just a loaner from the powers on high? Would it matter?

But the phrase that stunned me – and let’s be honest here – has to do with the formation of the material itself. Am I honest that it comes from some sort of voice that dictates? Yes. But, is that God? Am I a prophet?

In Z0770, the channel states clearly:

… we accept that the adult world is larger, for it will at some point contain the giddy enthusiasm of our earlier, childish channels, for we know that deep down the magic contained within those words is in fact very real, that even when we find our own hand at the back of the writing, as it necessarily has to be, that that will not lessen the miracle, but only illuminate it, and that even in the brighter sun of our adult day, that the miracle will radiate more really, more realistically, but like a diamond, sparkle ever the greater…

And what humility is that? If this channel is a farce from a teenager’s point of view, could it be all the more miraculous if it is some deep form of play acting? Where does anything come from? Inspiration? Feelings? Consciousness? Conscience? Conversation? Colors? Would it matter if these are all nothing more than creations of our spirit? If I turn out to be a charlatan in some sense, it doesn’t matter to me if I, myself, derive meaning and power from these words. The words don’t need to be a prophecy from upon high, they merely need to be meaningful and powerful to me.

And finally, the message:

As nonsensical as the message here may seem, deep within is an idea that can lead to freedom. Find joy in all times, in dark and in light, in health and in sickness, in sorrow and in elation, in deep tired nights when we can’t sleep, in deep tired nights deep in sleep. All moments are ours. All moments are ours to enjoy, to become within, to expand, to appreciate, to live in. For we are the way and the light, we are the essence of lifht itself. Rejoice, for all is good.

The blogging isn’t blah-ging, it’s the vehicle for my own personal salvation. Hmm. Freedom from a Bible for One.

XOXOX, Larz

One Reply to “Channel’s Z0769 & Z0770 – Santa Blahs”

  1. I find your stream-of-consciousness writing to be a fascinating look at the processing of an agile and active mind. A person does have choices when it comes to understanding our reality in the Universe. Some choose to relinquish the opportunity to challenge and explore and accept religious dogma with origins in Stone Age thinking. I chose to reject that dogma at 11 when I began to read the Bible and discovered contradictions and impossible mythology. For years, I lived in a void filled with questions not unlike what you have described. And then I was illuminated by a sunrise on The Great Mesa in Utah where I viscerally understood my insignificance in the universe, which led to the following insights: I am stardust (very cool to feel a part of it “all”), and “life” has no purpose but to live; rather than feeling despondent, for the first time I felt truly free to live whatever life I choose to live, free of Stone Age fear and dogma. I think what I came to feel may not be far different from what the Buddha has espoused, Stone Age insights that transcend dogma.

    Like

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