Excerpt for A Deeper Understanding of Mind by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


What the Trees Taught Me 2 0f 4


Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)


Copyright (©) 2017 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing


Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada


Picture found on FreeImages.com


Space Picture: ESA/Hubble


Next Series: Voice in the Mist


I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.

Contents

Foreword

A Deeper Understanding Of Mind

A Question Of Morality?

A Sign Of Change

Abnormal

Angel Of Love

Born Killer?

Brothers

Compassion

Creating One's Reality

Expressions Of Life

Giants

In Exchange

More on Change

Path To Eternity

Profound Endings

Raw Greed

Reflecting Walls

Refreshing The Spirit

Rejuvenation

Shadows On Sidewalks

The Golden Path

The Great Maze!

The Man From Bole

The Nature Of Things

The Spectral Voice

The Tree Of Life

The Turtle's Shell

There Wasn't Much To Her

Thinking Outside The Box-Living Outside The Box

What Is History, And What Is The Point?

Foreword


These books represent a varied collection of remarkable "outside the box" thinking (and subsequently, writing).


If you are one of those trammeled and importuned by strong beliefs that won't let go, this could be your chance to break free. I'm not asking you to believe what is written therein—I can't say I believe all of it myself—but it makes for an interesting "other than" perspective. Reading these books can be compared to painting by numbers. You have this standard picture outline and between lines are colour numbers. You match the numbers to the colours and eventually you have a painting. It's not great art, of course, and everybody knows that but it gives you the impression that you did it yourself. We all know that is how the System operates. It gives us a number of colours and our life is laid out and numbered, from cradle to the grave. There isn't much we can do about it, it seems. It's the System.


Ah, but there is something we can do about it. We can ignore the numbers. Use random colours and mix them. If "3" is green, we do pink on one of the "3" sections and arbitrarily use orange on the next, and so on. Pretty soon the System doesn't know us anymore and guess what? We discover what real freedom can be. It begins by breaking the rules; by daring to violate those imposed beliefs. Here's one for you: Did man ever land on the moon? Of course they did, you will say. You saw it on TV, or you saw the videos and read the reports and documentaries, right? Ok, fine. But that is not the point since landing on the moon or not did nothing to change the way people interact with each other. So the point? The point is to paint a different colour on the "moon landing" section of your life's canvas. A "fake moon landing" colour. Now really go into this idea. Break the template here, convince yourself it was all faked in some studio, for whatever political reason. Then proceed to prove to yourself that it was so. Study this bit of history; look at the clues. What happens in the end? In the end you realize it doesn't matter at all whether they landed on the moon or not. What matters is, you dared question it.


The material in here questions "taken for granted" ideas, sometimes seriously, sometimes with humour.


You know, it's hard to think these days, when everything is handed to us via TV and the Internet. Everything tells us how to think, and does so in the blink of an eye. We don't have to wait for the President's state of the union speech, or the preacher's rant on a given Sunday. We Google!


Can a mind atrophy? You bet. Look into these booklets and think about thinking.

A Deeper Understanding Of Mind


"You were a figment of my imagination," he said aloud, "but only in the way that our own personalities are figments of our own imaginations." [and he mind-touches her with]: Probability waves collapsing on a beach of pure space-time. Schrödinger curves, their plots speaking in a language purer than speech. Vague Attractors of Kolmogorov winding around resonance islands of quasi-periodic sanity amid foaming layers of chaos."

"Think in a human language," whispers Gail.

"I mean" he says softly, "that we were both dead until a blind, deaf, retarded child ripped us out of one world and offered us another in its place." [Excerpt from "The Hollow Man" by Dan Simmons]


I remember spending hours, days, nights, even life-times searching out the meaning of life and death, order and chaos, predictability and unpredictability in "everything" and each time feeling as a piece of driftwood unceremoniously tossed back upon the shore I'd thought I'd left earlier with so much hope and vision of coming to an understanding. Try again! And again! Two choices: give up or continue. Where's the logic here?


What is real? Is there anything we can know for certain that some tsunami of a collapsing wave-front of thought can not, in a moment of "taking it for granted" or inattention, obliterate or change forever? Just imagine billions of Earthians suddenly, simultaneously, realizing that their "God" is not at all what they all believed he was? That's about to happen, simply because these people no longer care about their "mission" to believe. Think of what that's going to do to Earthian reality. Dwarf global warming or nuclear war.


Do we create our reality? Do we allow others to do it for us? Is it a complex web of interacting creative/destructive thought forms creating patterns that make no sense? Or is it something akin to Spirit, of which it could be said: it was always, and will be always?


I've often used the metaphor of reality as seeing worlds open themselves up as a flower in time-lapse photography, or as fireworks exploding and coloured sparks raining down, extinguishing themselves as they fall. Seems to me that reality exists to the degree that it is being sustained... or not.


The question of the day is, what, who, sustains it? And why?


Obviously, every living thing sustains its own reality. Obviously, I sustain mine. I do it because I believe I have no choice: no reality, no beingness. If I want to "live" then I must create a "living" environment in which to exist. How do I do that? In so many ways, most of them through subconscious channels, discovered only haphazardly or in expanded awareness.


Imagine reality as waves upon an ocean. It's not the ocean, but the chaos and patterns upon that ocean. Currents and waves. Like particles and waves in observation of quanta. If I'm swimming in that ocean (taking up space, expending energy), I'll create waves - my own bit of intersection in the pattern. Other wave makers: winds, tides, heat, ships, seismic disturbances, a whale surfacing, a child throwing a rock by a shore, a blue-footed booby diving. All these motions interact to form waves upon the ocean: reality.


Kind of a chicken and egg scenario. I am a part of a reality which I must sustain in order to exist in it. I can accept that; I don't see it as a conundrum. Eliminate "time" and think space - infinity. What comes first now? Nothing. The chicken can lay the egg from which it is born. Infinity has no past and no future. It doesn't even have a now. It just is. And when we all grow up, we'll all see that and laugh at our attempts to understand life - past, present and future - within a time-space "continuum" that has no continuity. We'll give up our complex mathematics and our equally complex dramas and see each thing for what it is.


Meanwhile, what we do with that sustained reality, that's the question for research scientists, change agents, way-showers, makers of history, movers and shakers.


Why them? Because the rest of us are just supposed to shut up, put up and believe while we do the *real* work, sustaining the reality of earth that keeps those others in positions of power so they can tell us how things are.

A Question Of Morality?


'Tis said,

You can tell a lot about a people

by the way they treat their animals.


I say,

you can tell a whole lot more

about a people's heart

by the way they interact

with members of their own species.


Earth humans are one single species

crowding a shrinking world:

why doesn't this make them more compassionate

towards those who lack

the basic necessities of life daily?


In some countries pets rate higher

get better shelter, food and medical care

than most children in the world:

Can this be called a question of morality?


But then, humans still fight wars

and still believe that money

rates higher than the environment -

so maybe I'm expecting a bit much

when I speak of morality - or compassion.

A Sign Of Change


What if it was declared legal,

for anyone who so desired

to walk nude in public

thus marking a sign of change?

What would be the effect of such an edict

in a society so deeply rooted

in believing nudity is immoral?


I "saw" one such daring individual

welcoming this new freedom

by walking nude in a public park

and I heard another, shocked, uncomfortable,

say to another in bitter judgment:

"That person dishonours our culture.

There should be respect for the majority

who can never accept this."


I wondered about that question

and this is what I came up with:

"If I were black-skinned and without rights

in a white supremacist society;

If I had to sit at the back of a bus

or stand because of my colour,

would I swallow my pride; do nothing

to safeguard the feelings of others?

Or, should I become an agent of change;

one who acts in such a way

a world stuck in fear and apathy

will be forced to act or react?"


Either way presents a dilemma,

force creates its own counter-force.

No, I won't try to change the world

or force it into change.

I'll just be the change I seek

and enjoy "me"- and if you like

what you see,

come play with me!

Abnormal


I was a coarse stone dropped in smooth gravel in my early years upon this Earth. I was to find out, soon enough, that I was what society terms “abnormal” and in today's politically correct parlance, that would be: mentally challenged.


Because I was thus, it became natural for people who knew me, or met me, to mock my vision of being a writer within their 'normal' world. How could someone like me contribute anything worth reading? Which publisher would even glance at my broken prose and laboured poetry? They declared it would be a miracle if I ever contributed anything of value to society.


Society's welfare net offered some sort of semi-comfortable illusion that I could remain invisible while providing a number that a government department (or ten) could use to squeeze more money from the very same public that sought to disown me! But I come from a proud family; people who take care of themselves, who do not rely on society to feed them. I will not remain as a number on a Human Resources’ computer.


I learned to parry the blows dealt my creative spirit and used them to shatter pillars of unwisdom positioned all around me to keep me in my place within the social zoo. I wrote my feelings and trusted that God or the Universe, would provide the words I never learned in those 'special' schools I was forced to attend.


There is no substance in doubters or mockers who maintain the disabled cannot break the jagged rocks forming their outer shell and expose to an amazed world a polished diamond! Here I stand, proof it is possible to contribute something good, artistic, uniquely mine, to this time of great awakening. And if you remember, I am far from being the first who has done this. Many, far more 'challenged' than I have made a great impact on society.


My question though is this: why does society, knowing this, insist on hiding the handicapped, the mentally or physically challenged, and using them only to make money off of them, either through 'counseling' or special schools, or drugs or the very lucrative business of prosthetics? Why are we not encouraged to demonstrate the life skills we are forced to develop to replace the ones denied us by 'defective' bodies?

OK, world, I'm asking. Answer me!

Angel Of Love


Nights of endless darkness

blend softly into a golden dawn:

a vision of birds chirping;

leaves sprouting green

becoming alive in the breeze;

flowers bursting open with abandon

draping flowing colours

over hill, meadow, and field,

filling the wind with fragrance.


Though winter's frigid grip remains,

I feel the warmth of your presence

burning, as it touches my heart,

a flowing energy renews my life:

you are the angel of love;

you spread gifts of hope, of peace;

your love showers a world in need.

Born Killer?


In a lonely darkened alley,

a killer's obsession is set free

savagely, pointlessly (so it seems)

upon the innocent (the victim).


A suspected felon, hunted, he runs

breathless, out of his mind, out of control,

he runs in fear: so it must be

on a remote, primitive world where God's law

still states: vengeance is mine, and eye for eye

and tooth for tooth, and all shall pay the price!


Many say the killer is deranged, mad

and should be put to death when found.


But I wonder, seeing as they're the same ones

who prepare for war and start them,

who daily starve the weak

and steal from the innocent...


Who can I trust to learn my truth from?


And I wonder, maybe there's a spiritual level

where one still needs to understand,

by actual experience, this urge to destroy life;

whether murderer or General, Banker or Scientist...


I must reason his action,

for my friend provided the sacrifice

while fate let me

experience the horror of the moment.

I need time to meditate,

to consider every facet of the truth,

forcing myself to understand

reasons beyond reason

why certain things transpire.


We all have the ability to murder

but some have moved beyond that level,

though still at times

indulging in acts of violence

toward others.


I hold no anger towards him,

only love and compassion

for I realize his pain at this moment

is much greater than mine could ever be.

Brothers


Early in life

I was taught this great truth:

"all men are brothers...

(if they think like you,

the rest are enemies...)


Later on, I discovered

(quite by chance -

the lie in that

implied truth)


"all men are brothers

(I said to myself -

it's not something you

talk about freely

in such a free country)

I stopped there

and let it go at that

it seemed enough

it was enough

for me

(I did nothing to prove

the right or wrong of it)


Still later on, joining a group

(a fellowship, they called it)

the original lore

the ancient lie

sprung back to life within

with little prompting:

We -had the truth -

possessed the book of books

stolen from another race

(now cursed, of course)

and added on for good measure

(well, one can always use

more truth -

from God himself, no less)


And,

if at the end

God decreed eternal torment

for any who did nor read, did not

Believe!

the book in its entirety;

did not accept its believers

coming with lies and guns

plundering the lands

raping the women

enslaving the children

then so be it: God is just...


But wait:

God in his way is also very merciful

(to all sinners -

even to believers of lies -)

and I believe again


that

"all men are brothers"


there never can be

written absolute truth

for the book itself says -


if everything was written

the earth itself could not contain

the books written

as a witness

to it all


Now I understand

and won't be fooled again.

Compassion


Walking as in a dream,

restless of thought,

I think of compassion:

what does it mean to be compassionate?

I saw these words

in my mind:

“Would you know compassion?

It creates the unease of sorrow;

opens old wounds;

creates total confusion.


It turns the world you know

completely upside-down.

It demands a change of mind

about most things,

especially those cherished.

On the flip side

it brings a lasting healing

that is felt within.

It gives meaning to the word "Peace"

and at the end of the road

cleansed of old addictions,

freed of old attachments,

no longer wallowing

in the suppressed ugliness of the world,

it will show you the path of joy;

yes, even more:

it will show you the Golden Path.”

Creating One's Reality


I'm thinking about the concept that we create our reality. A half-truth, if there ever was one, for how far can we carry that notion in the face of things over which we seem to have no control? Things which, if left up to us, would be very different?


Here's what I think on the matter. Only the truly self-empowered individual creates her/his reality. That of course has nothing to do with outward circumstances which affect us, but with an inner attitude to it all -- a strength that allows one to deal with every issue in a way that is consistent with one's character. It means we do not blame others, or outside circumstances for our personal conditions. We do not even blame ourselves. We look at the world such as it is and we make adjustments accordingly. It means we take full responsibility for it all. Not as if we were responsible FOR the conditions, but personally responsible as to how we respond to those conditions. As if it was weather and we were going out in it. If it looks like rain, we carry an umbrella. If it is raining and we are going to spend the day in it, we put on rain clothes. It is unlikely that "someone" will be there to give us the umbrella, or the rain gear and we know we won't be able to go back for them.


That's what many people do not understand, especially those who espouse those pseudo New Age spiritual doctrines. They think that "creating one's reality" actually means creating outward circumstances that are always pleasing; that keep one in constant "health, wealth and happiness". They think it means one is thus immunized from the effects of global negative conditions. It means buying a lottery ticket and winning, every time.


Non-empowered individuals do not create their reality. They simply strengthen whatever happens to be consensus reality. They enter into a ready-made concept of reality they automatically accept as normative. No questions asked. If a "yes" is demanded, they will say "yes" and if "no" they will acquiesce with a "no". They will seldom be personally happy or even satisfied with the outcome, but they will accept it because it makes them feel "safe" and "loved" -- in the bosom of the majority, or within the acceptable bounds of the System. The "voter" syndrome. "Participatory democracy" -- the dictatorship of the polling booth.


But consensus reality leads to acceptance of, acquiescence with, evil in high places. That in turn leads to cognitive dissonance, a psychological condition that allows otherwise decent people to believe consensual lies, and to act in ways contrary to personal nature. You could say, it causes individual consciences to go into sleep mode, and be over-ridden by consensus conscience. It resembles brainwashing, only much worse because once entered into, only complete personal catastrophe and death or destruction of the consensus reality concept can cause an awakening. I call consensus reality "the sleeping beauty syndrome."


Who creates consensus reality? The ones with the power and the money. The ones who promise the goodies if they are supported, or the ones who threaten dire reprisals if they are not supported. The ones who have the power to destroy your personal comfort zone: to take away your sense of security; to eliminate your job, to take your house; to put you in jail, or to send your children "overseas" to kill and be killed for the "Father/Mother land". The ones whose names are household words and feed the headlines. The ones who make the "laws" and have them enforced. The ones who, by right of might, fully expect "you" to believe what they tell you to believe. The ones who rule by the "Lord God" concept. Obey or die.


That's where we are at. If we are not constantly creating our own "reality" within, we are living the reality of those who rule our lives. We jump when they snap their fingers, and we cringe when they crack their whip, hoping it will fall on someone else's back. Even when we make fun of them, or nod in agreement over "Michael Moore" type documentaries, we know the tolerance limits of those who rule and we do not cross that line. Even when we know that "liberal" or "conservative" are from the same "right" side of the line, we never dare look at what's being offered on the "left" - for the opposite of "right" is, after all, "wrong"!


Self-empowerment: the power to personally choose how to respond to external stimuli: despite the very real risks inherent in such a proposal, doesn't it have a nice ring to it? Just imagine being able to always live in accord with your own personal character, by your own code, without fear of consequences - heady thought, that.

Expressions Of Life


How does one who, in this life, is considered "mentally chal¬ lenged" share his pains and dreams with others? Imagine the difficulty of ordinary conversation when you stutter badly, when you have trouble with the meaning of words, the spelling, the syntax, the grammar. For example, "grammar" is your mother's mother, not something you use when communicating on paper. "Syntax" is a government process of taking money from those it considers anti-social: what has that got to do with the way I write?


For a long time, ideas jostled around in my brain. I saw the world; I sensed it pressing on me. We, the odd ones, are not immune to pain, sorrow, loneliness, joy, and excitement. We are not incapable of reasoning, and we have our own philosophy. The problem is to communi¬ cate this to the world.


The world, you see, is always interested in us, but from its own point of view, never ours. We are not supposed to have a point of view, at least not as long as we are not properly fitted inside its idea of normalcy. We are a challenge to it (hence, the "mentally challenged" terminology): it wants to "help us" and "straighten us out" so we can fit in its mold of normalcy. The world does not tolerate abnormalc¬ y. If the world be made up of round holes, woe to those who are born square pegs. They will have their corners shaved off! So much unnecessary pain we must bear because of that outmoded idea.


So then, how do we communicate with that world? Most of us never really do. We retreat deeper and deeper within ourselves and allow our thin outer layer to be moulded. That's OK, but we are not there. We do not become normal, we simply learn not to cause trouble to the system. If we are "good," we are treated in a fairly decent way. If we are not, we are incarcerated and pumped full of drugs; sedated permanently, you might say.


I, like the rest of my peers, had to chose my own path in this matter. I had to make things happen for myself. The System is so powerful in convincing even loving parents to give up on us and let the system have us. Big Brother knows best. "He'll be better with his peers. We'll look after his physical needs and keep him occupied." "It's not bad at all, considering the options he has being on his own! Anything can happen to him out there. He can't cope." "You under¬ stand, don't you? This is all for the best." "Forget about him. He'll be just fine in our hands. We are professionals after all." "Trust us!" it says with its Colgate smile.


If there is one thing we, the MC's of the world learn at a very early age, it's that we cannot trust anyone, not even our own body. We are anything but ourselves. Why, I asked myself, would the System be interested in me? Why does it want me "institutiona¬ lized" and in its permanent care? Of what possible use can I be to society from that angle? No one really wants the second rate "stuff" our hands sometimes manage to produce from paper, wood, glue and paints. We are very expensive to maintain. This does not make sense, my thoughts told me. Express this "does not make sense" idea. Come on. Communi¬ cate. Ask. Tell. Dare!


More jostling inside. More confusion and pain. I could feel the tugging to release information, but it was all jumbled. I tried to talk to people but my speech was so slow and my words so few and simple, no one took the time to listen. After all, what could I possibly know that any five year old didn't already know? I was only a retard--oh, yeah, sorry: political correctness of the nineties dictates that I use the term "mentally challenged" to make myself acceptable to society, and more approachable by the general public! I felt like screaming out loud:" Listen to me! Listen to me! Understand me! Hear me! Take time to hear what I am trying to say. I'm here--I exist--I am human like you!"


But the words weren't there. I thought I couldn't say anything that would raise emotion; that would be evocative; that would strike a chord in another's heart. I was a mistake, a misfit. I had no right to be here, expressing inexpressible ideas which might make others uncom¬ fort¬ able.


"Communicate your feelings!" said the voice inside my head. " Go ahead, tell them how you feel, how to see things, how life's experiences stack up from your perspective." Of course, I didn't hear it in those words. I just felt it, and I wanted to do something to release that pressure. I began to write what I felt, using whatever words I could remember... or even make up. Some friends looked at my "stuff" and encouraged me. Something there touched them, obviously. They said I should join a writers' group so I could improve my verbal skills.


Try, just for a moment, to imagine the kind of courage it would take for someone like myself to go to a writers' group, to walk in alone, to look at all those strangers, and to try to fit in.... What would they think of me? Would they be willing to help me, or would they ignore me? Would they even listen to my broken thoughts painstakingly scratched on pieces of paper with pen or pencil? They had type¬ writers, word processors and computers to work with. Yes, I really did feel out of place, but it wasn't a new feeling for me. I stuck it out. I made friends. I learned. I was encouraged. After a time, my poetry was written down in almost passable English and I even went on a TV program called "The Writers' Corner". I had finally learned the art of communication with a world that had, until then, believed I couldn't have anything to say!


That writers club became the place that allowed me to write down expressions of life from my point of view. It gave me the tools to take the jumbled but completely valid thoughts from my mind and put them on paper to share with others. It gave me a focus. It didn't make my life any easier, but it gave it meaning. I saw that I did not have to work at menial, minimum wage jobs and be treated as a "retard" (whatever political correctness may imply: nothing much has changed in that part of Big Brother's world!) I published a small book of poetry locally. I learned to write submission letters and enter my work in competitions all over North America. I learned to share my setbacks and successes with others in the group. I almost captured the club's record for the most rejection slips received in one week! This is good. I learned to write about funny things in life and rejoice when I made others laugh. I learned to freely share my emotions, to let my hair down. Here, I was not being judged and condemned. I was being treated as an equal; a "companion" on the tortuous path of being published. I found out there are people who don't care about artificial "political correctness:" they just live the real thing-- a natural outflow of their daily life. For belonging to such, I am thankful.


Oh, and yes, I found out why the System is so interested in us "retards." We provide much employment for many, many "specialists" who study long and hard in order to know just how to handle human guinea pigs. We, such as we are, when in the hands of Big Brother, are responsible for making a lot of money move through the innards of the System, to keep it sated. We join such ranks as the unemployed, for example, those on welfare, the military, patients in ECU's, students in public schools and universities. We, the public drains, provide meaningful (we hope!) employment for the largest army known to the world: the bureaucracy, without which the System could not exist. Wow! And now, I can even express such a thought on paper. It's no longer a festering sore in my mind. Thank you, writers and would-be writers, for teaching me to communicate.

Giants


As twisted shadows

in shades of night,

giants abide

formless, yet deadly;

threatening, knowing

time is their friend.

Ancient giants,

uncivilized, fearsome,

trampling about

unguarded borders,

ever watchful,

seeking unwary victims.

Confusion, uncertainty, fear;

anger, stress, despair:

where will the attack come from

this time?

I grow so tired of fighting:

couldn't I just let them pass,

turning away

from their baleful eyes,

never again to stare down

their ugly mien,

Yet how could I?

They rule this world

fueling its systems

and I won't become

just another pawn!

In Exchange


Thumbs in suspenders; smug, wood-hard face,

the old logger stands, and near the end of his time

surveys a clearing of bleeding stumps: his handiwork.

On surrounding hills, torn patches of earth's sagging face

leave him unmoved, his attitude unchanged.


With the cold eye of the predator, he calculates the worth

of one remaining tree at the far edge of the clearing--

a fleeting life, struggling alone, needles falling silently

as tears from an orphan in the path of someone else's war...


He hefts the chainsaw to take this last life,

but as suddenly, falls dead in his own killing fields,

his heart giving out, tired of the noise, the killing:

another wasted life in a wasteland of its own making.


Among the wreckage, in an evening's freshening breeze,

the logger's son falls to his knees, weeps silently,

his tears, long held back, fall freely on this broken land:

are they for the father lying dead at the morgue--

or for himself, now able to see the works of greed?


In fading shadows, his haunted space comes alive:

he hears his mother's voice and unheeded advice:

"Never take any life for foolish pleasure or greed, son.

Take but what you need with constant gratitude

for such is understood and permitted.

and in fair exchange give of yourself also."

More on Change


The question was, "where does real change originate" and the obvious answer was: within oneself.


The next obvious question is, how do we bring about the kind of change we desire? That's a crucial question for those of us who would become avatars in our own right. As long as we depend on others, or another, to give us the change we desire, well, that's chancy, to say the least. All we need do is look around at all those people who wish and pray and hope and wait... and all those others who simply give up.


The first wave of change we must be completely in control of is the personal choice to change one's own nature. It's finding the power to change a totally unreliable nature for one that will remain on track, no matter what the circumstances. Again I must reiterate that for those who have relied (and continue to rely) on divinities, saviours, angels, gurus, teachers or even aliens(!) to make this change for them, it has not worked and the little it has appeared to work is simply what they, themselves accomplished with a great deal of effort.


So, how do I go about changing what is obviously a debilitated and debilitating spiritual, moral and physical nature?


I'm going to now speak of experience, not something I think sounds good, or worse, something I read that someone else channeled from some ascended master who got it from some archangel who got it from God. No matter what history shows, no matter what's been said, written, preached, the bottom line is, it has to work -- for me. Since none of the above worked for me, at least not anywhere near the extent I expected of all that verbal commotion, I have to do stuff to know if the stuff works. Research. Experience.


What is experience? It's a compendium of all those things I had to tackle that were beyond me; that were bigger than I was at the time; things I accomplished, overcame or failed at... and accepted, or to be poetic, I wrote as stanzas in my lifesong.


So change, real change, personal and definitive, comes from stuff that is bigger than me, always. If it's something I've already done, or I know I can handle without difficulty or challenge, there will be no change resulting from that effort. Even in the daily grind, the humdrum of life, there is always an opportunity... I should say an endless array of opportunities to go beyond the "called for" and make that awesome difference for others and consequently for oneself.


Among the countless examples I've seen of ordinary people doing the extraordinary, here is a story from today. I was in a local "Money Mart" doing a transaction. It was very busy and there was a lineup. One young woman was by herself behind the counter handling the rush. I watched her interacting with customers and there was tension but she never wavered, never got upset and kept giving advice, or trying to pull information from her computers. My turn came. I had change coming back and I left it for her - a substantial amount, and obviously an unexpected bonus for her. I told her I admired her poise and she deserved a thank you that would make a difference.


It was good.

Path To Eternity


Take the risk,

tread down the unknown

highways

wide as they may be,

rolling out in every direction!


Envision the adventure,

the mystery, the challenge,

but beware of lurking dangers

to frighten and scar the flesh,

shedding blood

upon lofty ambitions!


Walk with purpose,

believe innate desires,

then wait with patience

for the blossoming of spring!


Come see your dreams,

your yearning to understand,

unfold along the journey

of life's roads travelled!

Profound Endings


I have a friend who loves words

almost as much as I do.

He reads my poems, comments

and makes suggestions along the way.


Many a time, he'll reach the end

of a, perhaps, loose piece

and put the dreaded

question marks

- ???? -

meaning, yeah, it needs

a profound ending.


I've given this some thought

and I think I've got it now:

I'll write a whole book

of profound endings

and give it to him as a gift:


Now, he'll have a multiple choice

of profound endings:

that should put an end

to the dreaded question marks -

????

Oh, before I forget

I'd better throw a profound ending

here:


“And God bless us everyone!”

Raw Greed


Governments crumbling,

spending more, much more,

keeping alive

their slave making,

tax grabbing,

dream shattering,

energy wasting,

war mongering,

fear generating; and for what?

To spread the terror

of earth-destroying dictatorships

through raw greed.


Teach your children

as we taught ours,

man does not weave

the web of life,

he is merely strands

within it.”

(Chief Seattle)

Reflecting Walls


Staring bewildered

at my swelling walls of pain

exposed by aching loneliness

I no longer wonder why it is

that my flowers droop; their colors fade!


From this sad meditation

I hear the voice of wisdom:

"Intend and co-create; in passion,

desire that which you possess,

or possess what you desire!


Gaze in the mirror of life

expecting to see only

that which you want to see;

cancel all misfit realities

and now see your flowers

spring back with life

and the walls reflect the colors

radiating from your boundless joy!

Refreshing The Spirit


You are awakening

from your slumber,

a few minutes to the break of dawn.

Now is the time to appreciate

life in her simplicity;

to re-discover age-old gifts:

tranquillity and peace of mind.


Throw away man-made rubbish

polluting your thoughts;

walk boldly into the forest;

into every sound awakening;

into every image opening:

breathe them in!


Chase away apocalyptic dreams

clutter for the mind;

expose every errant, stagnant thought

to a glittering morning sky;

stare into a crystal stream

and see fears wash away

leaving only the purest of visions

to refresh the Spirit.

Rejuvenation


Lightning strikes a tinder dry wood,

flames shoot up, engorging

the dusty, sleeping forest,

burning, scorching, destroying

every living thing in their path.


Though it seems a total waste,

though it seems cruel,

such cleansing is needed

where trees and plants have run out

of living space, the old

crowding out the young

in the competition for light.


Nature's unwritten law states

that if a type of life stops evolving,

overpopulating its living space,

a disaster will sweep over the land,

destroying many living things

letting the land breathe again,

rejuvenating itself:

"Would that man learned something

just from watching nature's travail."


"Nature's laws are not written;

only enforced!"

Shadows On Sidewalks


As I glanced outside

through the sunlit window

of a street side coffee house

I see a passing girl's shadow

upon the sidewalk

and I wonder:

is she the one?


Does she have blonde hair,

brown eyes?

Maybe, just maybe

she works as a teller

a local bank.

Is she five foot four?

Is her name Jane or June?


Well you see

I got those details from the psychic:

but why not include her phone number?

Her address too?


Now, to find the girl of my dreams

to match his given description

I've got to play detective

with shadows on sidewalks!

The Golden Path


I walk along the shore

of a fast-moving river,

the soughing of the wind in the trees

blends with the musical laughter

of the water...


I am thinking of ways

we could save ourselves

in these terrible times;

these horribly selfish times

and this idea comes to mind:

The only way we can

ever change our ways

is through willingness

to give one's life for another -

no questions asked -

living each day knowing

that this is the day

I am called to give my life

for another.


Impossible, I think,

utterly crazy,

could something like this work?


Then I hear a voice

from nature's symphony:

“if all were prepared

to give their life for another

no harmful things would ever be done

by one to another:

wars would be impossible,

hunger would end,

as would crime.

Your world would become healthy

and safe for all your children.

Is that not what you desire?”


I leave this sacred place now,

reeling from this revelation

and thinking that yes,

given those possibilities

I must be willing

to give my life for another.

The Great Maze!


At one point I felt trapped, lost;

no way out of the maze, I thought

until I realized,

the maze need not be a trap,

but a place to walk in awareness

with every turn,

with every surprise,

with every horror;

with every encounter of love.


Most people I see,

struggle a life time for a way out,

for something more pleasing

'til death says "no more!"


Was there never a plastic bag

dancing in a city's breeze?

Never a child's laughter at play?

Never an opportunity to see

the other side of life,

the other side of the maze?


No matter which hallway you run down,

which door you step through,

which window you jump out of:

move and the maze challenges

to broaden your outlook.


I choose to see beyond my comfort zone,

broaden myself, look out a new window,

walk a new path, open a new door,

fly to new heights, create my self anew.


Maybe life on Earth

is just a small part of a bigger maze:

Maybe, just maybe, we've only just begun!

The Man From Bole


There was a little man from avenue Bole

who thought he could live on the dole

but all he accomplished as a whole

was dig himself deeper in the hole!


[From the Laughing Poet files]

The Nature Of Things


Don't you just love those nature shows?

The ones where animals do all their wonderful things;

in the snows, the sands, the waters, the trees

and even in the air?

Wonderful and heart warming, fuzzy and scary, all at once.

(Of course it's all a set-up for the cameras

but don't we just love to be fooled for entertainment?)

And while we're peeping at the animals

(and even plants in time-lapse photography

to give an aura of happening)

we program ourselves to conveniently forget

we too, like it or not, are just as much part of...

"The Nature of Things."


Paradoxically we are much more a part of it

than any other life extant on Earth today.

So much a part of it, we can blow it up, poison it, burn it,

choke it with refuse. -- Kill it --

And for a few dollars more -

that's exactly what we are about to do.

Who'll stop us? Savannah lions? Sea lions? Dandelions?


By some exaggerated twist of mindless arrogance

The Earth human came to see himself

superior to the nature that supports him --

and yet, wonder boy that he is

never has he been able to take one breath,

one drink of water, one bite of food

that did not come from the very nature

he still believes he stands above and beyond.


No my friend, you are not special,

not some freak from space; not above:

you are human, you are Earth and you live or die by her.

Kill her, now you have the power.

Sell her as slave and prostitute into the hell you've created:

it's indeed your prerogative to do so - and your penchant.

But mark these words well - if you can still read -

You're not a predator, you're not a hero; you're not special:

you are a fool -- seven billion times a fool --

only in this are you special; only in this can you take pride.


Oh but some of you believe you have gods?

Space brothers eagerly waiting with open arms

to save your worthless hides?

They are out there, certainly -

but safely waiting, out of reach,

waiting until you've gone, to the very last one.

Then they'll wait another billion years or so

(Just to be sure)

and they'll come to take another look at planet Earth.


They'll bring children to run and laugh in the wind

and they'll bring their own tools this time:

compassion, love, caring, nurturing, understanding, peace

and ... the one tool most feared by the greedy of this last day:

simple cooperation.

"Then shall Earth blossom again, and without fear"

The Spectral Voice


I've been feeling rather forlorn for some years now. I don't get much in the way of meaningful dialogue. In fact I get little dialogue of any kind, at least not with the humans.


I still frequent the still, quiet places of Earth but those are becoming rarer and rarer. Of late I've taken to walking the top of the mountains and swimming the rivers and lakes. I was conversing with a couple of ravens the other day when several of those jet airplanes roared on past overhead and the ravens flew off because the noise hurt them. It's OK, it hurt me too.


There aren't as many fish now as there used to be and the waters are full of strange and alien vibrations. Also I find man-made garbage, mostly chemical effluents, spoiling the waters. The larger boats create much turmoil and the waters are murky. Many of the young fish die because their environment is no longer healthy for them. The waters of Earth are becoming a death trap for those who cannot live anywhere else. But what can one do?


I still find forests to walk through, but they too are dwindling. Most of the people I find here are bent on some sort of destruction. Either they are logging the forest, or hunting and killing what remains of the animal population or they are just out there "joy riding" in their ATV's and four wheel drives. Needless to say the larger animals are too busy between catching a few moments of badly needed rest, protecting themselves or their families, finding new sources of food or just running scared from the human predators to have much time to chat with me.


So as you've gathered I mostly spend my time observing it all, not trying to communicate much of anything to anyone. I sit quietly for days on end and watch a beaver family build a lodge for the winter. Or I watch the antics of squirrels gathering nuts and burying them. I follow sparrows and other small birds with my eyes, listening to their chirping and for some brief moment I enjoy a respite of heart from their boundless enthusiasm and child-like faith in life.


Today -- my days are not like your days, so don't get confused about time, it matters little -- I went into your city. Any city, it's all the same city, so name doesn't matter. This time I thought I'd concentrate on your thoughts and find someone with whom I could converse simply and clearly. I wanted to express what I'd seen of the destruction of the wilderness. You see, without your wilderness - large untouched forests, green prairies, pristine river valleys and clean seas - this planet is going to become poisoned and in a short time it will look like your neighbour, the one you call Mars. I wanted to tell you this hoping you would acknowledge my right to say this, and would respond to my deep sense of knowing in these things. I was, you might say, longing for a meaningful conversation with an intelligent, sentient and self-aware being.


It was a very long day, tiring even for me. I went from your business districts to your suburbs, to your industrial areas and finally I wandered among your destitute and homeless. But everywhere there was what you call music playing from radios, or there were computers and TV's talking and all of you were plugged in to cell phones, or i-somethings, and not one of you heard me or even felt my presence.


I really wanted to speak with you about your ways. You are about to commit genocide. Already you do this to hundreds of non-human living species each day, without qualm, fear or guilt. I wanted to tell you that you are all linked together on this tiny world. With each species you destroy you also destroy a vital part of your own culture. You, as a people, are dying.


I know what I have to say to you does not appear to be good news. But at least, had you listened to me you would be empowered at this moment to do something, if not for the planet, at least for yourself as an individual. You could change your own ways.


Oh, you were listening to this? Interesting. Who am I? You don't recognize me? Have I been hidden from your ken so long now? I am the one the ancients called "Wisdom". Yes, I suppose you are right, I'm out of date. I should have left this world long ago. I'm too old and spectral to impress anyone today. But thank you for listening, even if all you want from this is to write a best seller.

The Tree Of Life


Of all the topics available for the open mind to pursue, none is as fascinating than that of life itself. What a privilege it is to have become (or been chosen to be) an intelligent, self-aware, sentient being! To be able to observe oneself -- and whoever said you can't watch yourself dance was so wrong!


The tree of life is an interesting way to describe life in its manifold aspects, or dimensions.


Let me preface by returning, for a moment, to the fabled Eden of Biblical Genesis. For the Eden God to have "pets" with whom he could interact or interface, he had to make them able to know themselves. For that, he had to draw them from the tree of life (he could not create them from nothing) and give them a place at the source from which they could create their own branch on the tree - and he had to make them aware that they were entitled to partake of the tree. However, he didn't want them to evolve out of his control so he did the wizard of Oz thing, confusing and threatening them. He made them fear their own source of life and believe they were utterly dependent upon himself for everything. He "grew" an artificial "tree" beside the tree of life and called it the "tree of the knowledge of good and evil." (There is no such tree.)


Then he set up a false "god" to "tempt" the humans into partaking of this artificial knowledge. Once inveigled, he went into a rehearsed pretend rage, cursed them and the earth, then cut them off from the tree of life -- that is, from access to any other reality but that of earth -- subject to all the conditions that he was to set up for them to endure. If they held to the belief of their unworthiness he could almost guarantee that they would search for their new life through him and with each (re)incarnation, be blinded to the promises of the tree of life. Brilliant, eh Watson!


Sadly, thousands of years and billions of humans later most still ascribe to the Edenic "God" version of events... or worse, deny the existence of the fabled "tree of life" and seek for it in physical accomplishments and through posterity.


Symbolically the tree of life is most commonly represented by the Jewish menorah or 7-branched candelabra (seven being a number of completion). Sometimes it is drawn as a regular tree with many branches... Ultimately the tree of life has an infinite number of "branches" and sub-branches (and let's not forget the leaves, flowers, fruits and nuts!) But as in any tree you do not find any two (or more) branches growing from the source, or trunk and then growing into each other. Even if two branches are forced against one-another, they do not become one. They do not share their "information" at the point of contact. (There may be biological exceptions to this rule I am unaware of, but I'm using symbology here and speaking of "normal" trees!)


This says much about the validity of talk about crossing dimensions: it cannot be done without returning to the "source" or re-entering the trunk and flowing up until a branch is found to suit one's current state of awareness... or until a self-empowered entity simply "grows" a new branch somewhere along the tree. One of the reasons "death" was invented was a means of returning to the source to get a new "go" in the tree - rather obvious, if we know anything about trees. (Note that the artificially induced "Edenic" death -- the kind now in vogue on earth -- as a result of divine curse is altogether different than a natural death - it does not bring one back to the tree of life, but to the "Giver" of that death. Also, a natural death involves no fear and gives no pain.)


This explains why "the dead" and us don't have fire-side chats every evening. It also explains why those who explore through the near-death experiment enter experiences beyond words, translatable only as "a bright light" and a "feel good". Sometimes they do meet strange angelic beings (as I have) or even meet dead loved ones. So it is possible to glimpse other dimensions, not by arbitrarily "jumping" across from one branch of reality to another, but by dying. And that is how life protects itself, preventing total chaos.


As with any tree, lower (older) branches eventually lose their ability to draw life from the source. They dry up and fall off. If we take branches as groups we can see why systems (collectives) eventually lose their reason for being, cutting themselves off from the source. Hubris, greed, immorality and decadence infect these "branches" and they die off, as do their appendages, that is, as do those who believed in the system rather than in life.


But far above their disaster the tree and its branches are doing quite well. The tree of life is another of those concept one can label "infinite" in scope. Ever increasing in diversity and complexity. Those who partake of it are equally infinite and equally evolving - their physical mortality attesting to it.


Again re-iterating an obvious point: immortality is not a boon but a curse. As long as a being remains in its current form it cannot move to any other dimension within or upon, the tree of life. It cannot truly evolve, but only change and adapt! However human "science" gets around to explaining this to itself in the near future, that is what it will "discover" and be awed by. For those who believe in some instantaneous "translation" or "ascension" to another dimension -- prepare for a very long wait at the cosmic bus stop, for it too is an artificial construct... there is no bus. All ISSA's* have to learn to "freecast" through the cosmos if they would "be more". If they would live, they must first learn how to die.


"...and you will understand the language of the dead and of the living. Eventually you will be able to hear the music of the spheres and then, take your first step... to anywhere. (Teachings of Aenea - The Rise of Hyperion - Dan Simmons - paraphrased)


(ISSA* - acronym for Intelligent, Sentient, Self Aware)

The Turtle's Shell


Crashing monster boulders

may crack a turtle's hard shell,

but a constant daily onslaught

of bothersome sticks and 'pebbles'

doesn't appear to leave a dent.

Question: what happens though

if the turtle is overwhelmed

with the small stuff?

If she can't crawl out from under it?


Planet Earth is like that turtle:

no great “earth changes”

are about to bring all to an end.

All the little things done each day

don't seem to make much of a dent

in the hard shell of the planet -

but what of a “bog down” -

a complete social collapse?

What if, as a species we give in -

follow our fears, our hatred, our greed

and sink ourselves helpless?


Enter the final phase of destruction:

the enabling of the last holocaust

with weapons of mass destruction poised

over the last oil reserves;

vast armies crawling over mountains

to loot, pillage, rape and murder;

cities burning until the smoke

covers even the light of the sun

from pole to pole..


And who, when it is all over

shall record the events; the final story

of man's aborted stay upon this world?

Who shall care even, or want to know

what happened that a so-called intelligent life

never heard the call for understanding

or heeded the simple challenge of compassion?


And the final eulogy for Man will still be

“From dust were ye made

and to dust hast thou returned.”

There Wasn't Much To Her


Anyone would likely have agreed: there wasn't much to her.


To say she was on the thin side wouldn't be an exaggeration. Her face certainly wouldn't stand out in a crowd, though her dress might, depending on the times and place I suppose.


When I first got to see her, she was with quite a group of friends, mostly the quiet, unobtrusive types. They pretty well stuck together, you know, unless someone outside the group caused them to scatter around. Then they'd move about, from place to place, in what would appear a random fashion. To an observer, and you'd have to be a totally detached observer, the whole thing didn't make much sense. Oh sure, there'd be lots of noise all around her, and certainly some of her friends caused much glee or consternation, depending where they'd go. But what of it?


Well, life being what it is, and you observe something long enough, it was inevitable that one day I'd get to play the part of those she'd be attracted to. It wasn't her that came to me at first. There was a man I took to be her lover - but I could have been wrong - they certainly didn't care who they were with and even when in the group, they seldom were side by side. Then I got to interact with her brother, then some others, strange types who caused no end of excitement. I also got to meet "the others" - the plain ones, thin to the point of emaciation. They were more wall flowers than actors, these. In different circumstances, I suppose one would have felt sorry for that lot.


Still, they all remained popular. They kept moving around and creating a lot of fuss. And finally, one day, there she was, within reach. She could be mine, so I casually picked her up. She smiled at me, and even if it was a kind of Mona Lisa smile, it made me feel good - for a moment. I looked her over carefully, trying my best to hide her from the others. And I waited.


"Call."


She was the last one... so I played her. And lost it all.


Never trust the queen of hearts.

Thinking Outside The Box- Living Outside The Box



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