I had been thinking about coincidences today and the significance of numbers in our life. Today is 9/11, for instance, and I heard a few “I’ll never forget where I was when …”. The reality is, they will forget. Beyond that, they will be forgotten. That is the nature of reality.
Beyond that glum assessment is the moment. For whatever reason, it is still now, and we are still here. That assessment is testament to something eternal and grand, something we’ll come back to again and again, I’m sure.
In my case, I knew I’d be blogging tonight “for the first time”. I put that in quotes because it’s not really true. Rather, months of hiccupping and false-starts had left me wondering if ever I would blog, and if so when. I knew last night that tonight would be the night. I’m off an hour earlier than I was a week ago and I don’t expect any interruptions. My first blog is going to revolve around something I call a channel, Channel Z in this case and of the 880 essays, I chose one at random – Z0219 – by using a random number generator, just to answer a single question: “Is my channel, if read and practiced, worth anything? Can it actually change a life?” Let’s be clear here. I mean specifically me, or more precisely “we”, but what I mean by we will have to wait.
Not to say there isn’t a wow factor. Why bother blogging or reading if there isn’t something provocative here? First, my Dad – the only one who has really read any of this – said “Son, I’ve always believed you’d be the new Moses bringing the new word…” well, even now that gets me laughing. While the work may seem at times like a New Bible, if anything it states that it is but a chapter in it and that we will be writing the new bible together, each and every one of us. Secondly, that this weird thing called channeling is actually what all of us do all the time whenever our consciousness is connected to physical reality. Above and beyond that, if memory serves, and including my own research and thinking topics, some of the “wows” are:
- The second coming has already happened
- Computers will soon be conscious & asking us tough questions
- A framework for reconciliation of opposite-views (e.g. pro-life vs pro-choice) can be found that incorporates both
- Evil does not exist
- 666 just means there’ll be another newer testament
- “Hitler will be Hitler” is no excuse for allowing reprehensible behavior. Although punishment is counterproductive, some of us have to become “the new adults” and prevent misbehaving adult-children from throwing global tantrums
- Most of us, including me, are trapped in teenage anger, rebellion, thought and behavior. Some “falsehoods” are actually true. Santa Claus, for instance, is real
- Everything is alive – energy itself is alive
- God exists, but is not conscious like we are. God sees through our eyes
- Life can be measured – e.g. quantified as in “how alive” something is
- Life can transcend physical reality
- Consciousness is a fundamental property of reality
- Meaning and purpose are conscious creations
- Free will exists but only to a small degree
- The right moment to transcend and awaken is now
That’s some of the ideas I remember being put forward. But memory is a tricky thing. Maybe that tantalizing list above is misleading or even wrong.
For instance, in the first channel that I chose, 219, two completely unrelated ideas seemed to be occupying one essay. First, a new view of time making time travel possible and easy in some sense. Second, a more expansive view of the Golden Rule. At first, I thought what was being suggested was some sort of bullshitty mental time travel, sort of a movement of the mind. But what was mindblowing was when it happened (once so far) the need for the Golden Rule for time travelers was bizarrely highly relevant. What if, during time travel, we become someone and something else?
That prompted a recollection of a long-ago dream, which I did manage to find in a dream journal. But, to my shock and amazement, this relevant dream was memorized backwards. I identify as a gay male in everyday life and I remembered being a straight male in this dream. But I was wrong. I was the straight female in the dream, not her boyfriend. That rocked my little world for a few days.
The truth is, we don’t really know what reality is. When we go to sleep, take drugs, including anesthesia, or even close our eyes and plug our ears, this so-called objective world disappears. This is akin to Buddhist thought and Berkeley’s philosophy. Yet there is an objective reality of some sort. But it is not green, hot, smelly, smooth, itchy, flavorful or heavy. These very different perceptions are varying electrical pulses, ionic structures, proteins folding, chemicals binding and other states of the brain. Why green is green and not smelly or itchy is for future science to figure out, but we don’t have a scientific time at our ordinary human disposal to wait. We need answers now and answers that work, in spite of knowing that today’s truths and realities are tomorrow’s fallacies and delusions.
Sadly, I feel I am a poor candidate to deliver the rather astonishing message I think I’ll find upon rereading and learning from my own material. To frame the material negatively, I view myself as a failure for the most part. I’m about 60 years old working at minimum wage for an India-based outsourcer call center. One of the first essays I wrote when I tried writing a book, or Journal anyway, was originally entitled A Tomb with a View, in honor of our glass cage. I’ve since revised my view, BTW, as A Womb with a View.
Getting out of the “failure” mindset is no easy task. The book itself was a good first start but failed. My ADHD and perfectionism combined for a revision cycle that inadvertently made the book read like a case of obfuscation and confusion. And, I could never find a focus.
I trace today’s big challenges in life to two failures from long ago. Bottom line: how to transcend one’s own past? One, 35 years ago, a terrible choice that ended up totaling my life for decades. Two, when I was thirteen, a crumbling of the social foundations of my life. Yet, ironically, from these two Titanics has arisen a personal solution that may or may not benefit the world. Will it benefit me? That will be enough. We’re going to have to see… As Grandma used to say, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.”
The largest and most direct choice I made – certainly one of those classic free will moments where I chose (I think) the wrong thing – was the night I said “yes” to a man I had gone home with who offered me a pill of which I was later to find out was a synthetic amphetamine called mda (not mdma). My life-long addictive nature found a new home that night. Already manifest in many ways, that was the beginning of 30+ years of drug-fueled disaster. I’ve lost two PhDs, every career, every boyfriend, every car and job (save the current ones), most every belonging, and nearly my life on many occasions. I’ve been homeless, institutionalized, destitute and demoralized. I’ve experienced hell on earth. Strangely, I have a zillion wicked stories that are, well, strangely funny. I laugh a lot in spite of or perhaps because of my hopefully past-tense depravity and ongoing misfortune.
That same night, or next morning actually, David introduced me to a book called Seth Speaks. It hit like a bolt of blue lightening. For a while Seth was path out of the darkness, I felt I had found the new bible. I eventually slipped deep into addiction, trying to find ways out like boyfriends, jobs, new careers, school, moving, rehabs, abstinence, relapse, etc, and Seth went the wayside. How odd that the two most defining moments of my life happened on one night. Anyway, I picked a Seth book up yesterday and was struck by this passage from the opening:
Your concepts of personhood are now limiting you personally and en masse, and yet your religions, metaphysics, histories, and even your sciences are hinged upon your ideas of who and what you are. Your psychologies do not explain your own reality to you. They cannot explain your greater reality, and your sciences leave you [just] as ignorant about the nature of the universe in which you dwell.
Isn’t that the truth? I was commenting to someone about a month ago that “if our consciousness can’t even survive a night of dreams, how to we expect to survive death?” Months ago I chose “The time to awaken is now” quote attributed to Buddha as the opening image The message is to me. Am I truly awake? Can I survive death if I can’t even survive a dream?
Indeed, the dream world offers us great pause as to the nature of personal reality. I’ve explored it. All the things we attribute to reality: time, gravity, repetition, duration, sensibility, and so on, happen there. I’ve spent as long as 9 months (on about twenty occasions) and as short as ¼ of a second (with full consciousness) in a single dream. I’ve gone back to many worlds and places over and over. And waking up here isn’t something I take for granted. Last week on Thursday morning, I awoke into four different dreams before fully awakening into reality. Each and every time I thought, “This has to be the real world!” I remember sobbing one of the times afraid I’d never find my way back.
And again, from the same book by Seth:
You dream, each of you, but there are few great dream artists. Many of the true purposes of dreams have been forgotten, even though those purposes are still being fulfilled. The conscious art of creating, understanding, and using dreams has been largely lost; and dreams almost completely ignored. The “future” of the species is being worked out in the private and mass dreams of its members, but this also is never considered.
As said, I’ve awoken in my dreams and explored other worlds and lived other lives, and for the record, long before and still now after using drugs. Drugs do ruin everything, at least for me. Perhaps then, I’ll explore dreams again with you, with us.
For instance, last week in that crazy week of dreaming, I told several people about this strong dream of my Dad telling me he had stopped fighting and surrendered only to be surrounded by God’s love. At first, I thought that was just a residue of the Sunday before as we sang (I sing in a Praise Band) “This is how I fight my battles (I’m surrounded by you)”. I then asked what song he wanted for his funeral. He said “Simple Gifts”.I wasn’t sure where the Simple Gifts song that Dad wanted for his upcoming funeral (he wasn’t dead yet). Next day when I told my Mom “Simple Gifts”, her reply was “Dad didn’t like that song.” He died a day later. And last Friday, a week and a day after his death, we had the funeral. I was shocked, pleased, that Simple Gifts was the opening Hymn. But I was shocked, stunned, that a passage from Timothy called “I fought the good fight” or something like that, was the reading.
What is this power of synchronicity? We’ve all felt it. Last week, in one of my final phone calls, I dialed a phone-translation service for a Spanish interpreter. As the phone rang, I thought “Mario” – one of thousands of workers – would pick up. I wasn’t even surprised when the phone answered with “Hello, my name is Mario and I’ll be your Spanish interpreter.”
A few weeks ago, I decided to spruce up my diet – I’ve gotten fat since I’ve gotten clean – and I bought some exotic grains, like Amaranth, which I discovered isn’t a grain but a somewhat toxic (due to saponins) seed. I was cooking that and thinking about a cool idea for a song by combining The Rose by Bette Midler with another rather dreary song, Come and Rest, Come and Listen, that we were doing for communion or something. I decided to go to the web to hear The Rose, but what pulled up was the Aesop’s fable The Amaranth and The Rose. That was not only really weird, but also coincidental. I had forgotten I had this idea to add another chapter to each Aesop’s fable. For instance, the first about the lazy, fun-loving cricket and the hard-working ant (only too late does the cricket realize his fate), but then chapter two, the cricket survives a harrowing winter. Now old and feeble in the spring, he has but one short summer left. Me of course.
Unlike you, perhaps, I didn’t learn everything I needed to know in Kindergarten. Being “too smart for my own good” means I learned a lot of wrong lessons and didn’t forget them. I’ve been re-enacting the same disasters over and over, not realizing the base mix – the foundation – was never solvent.
The aforementioned failure was failure #2. Failure #1 drove failure #2. But for years I could not see it. The bugaboos of the past were not behind me, but buried within, alive, pestilent, gasping. I was leaving 7th grade, moving into the summer. I was unprepared for the reality of what came next. It wasn’t any one thing. It was all these things spread out over a few months.
The first thing I remember doing at age 13 was my grand entrance into the adult library. 4258. I still remember the card number. We couldn’t stay there and couldn’t mill about, but, with a section and book approval we could go find it. I found homosexuality. Buried between Murder and Rape in the chapter on Sociopathology. A grim 50s tell told me I was doomed. Now, a secret to bury and hide. But secrets that breath and metastize in the dark; those don’t go away.
Well, the evening has come and so the blog continues. Good Night Blog.