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Excerpt for The Consequences Of Ignorance by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


What the Sea Taught Me 1 0f 4


Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)


Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing


Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada


Cover pictures by: Top, Russ Merritt: Bottom, Ben Earwicker


All pictures found on FreeImages.com


Space Picture: ESA/Hubble


Next Series: Wisdom of the WindWalkers


I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.

Contents

Foreword

Break My Heart

Death

Empathy

Freedom Of Nature

God On Trial

In The Matter Of Seeking Comfort

Joy And Sorrow

Knowing Life; Doing Life

Knowing Love

Leave It To The Universe?

Little Beaver

Losing Sight

Night Fall

Now 'THAT' Is A Question!

Ode To The Flush Toilet

Past Lives Remembering

Shadow Vision

The Consequences Of Ignorance

The Dandelion Flower

The Titans - Balance

Today God Must Die

Vanishing Life

What Are We Losing?

Warriors Of The Sunset

Ye Are Doomed!”

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.

Break My Heart


"I'm a poet"

he says into her sky-blue eyes


"Break my heart"

she asks


"You are beautiful"

he whispers in her hair


"No! listen – I say

Break my Heart!"

she emphasizes it for him


"I don't understand you"

he says frustrated

pulling away to look at her


"Ah then!

No poet are you

my wordy friend --

I am not looking for words

to re-make my face

into Helen of Troy or Cleopatra's

my blue eyes as the sparkling sea

my hair black as the raven

or my voice

to cause the stars

to dance over a midnight sun


I am looking for the power

that lies behind the word

the heart beating

inside the fancy suit --

not the soft tongue

on the best-seller's list"


And there she leaves him

his dreams

(of love – of success – of both)

neatly bound

in a legal-sized envelope

Death


The

setting free

of

life forms

from

their symbiotic relationships

to

their particle state

so

they may experience life's energy together

beyond

regimented

freedom:

ourselves being

but

a complex

of such,

why do we

fear?

Empathy


For no reason,

just to feel love,

to experience peacefully

the song of joy's preceding

time and space in the great harmony.


For no reason,

just to be entirely free

of any negative thoughts

and to know life's energies

flowing unchallenged in my mind.


For no reason,

to be empowered

to live life without restraint

without fear of what could be

always in the moment's eternity.

Freedom Of Nature


I envision a pastel blue sky,

a light breeze blowing warm air,

gently stimulating, softy massaging;

I imagine others like myself,

walking nude as in expressions of Eden

in such a beautiful world:

free and shameless.


While this beautiful vision

seems right to me,

the majority has other ideas

of propriety and moral codes of conduct.

Would not men turn into sex animals

and rape our women?

say the paranoid and neurotic.

Will not people defecate wherever they walk?

inquire the decorous and foolish.

What would protect us from the elements?

ask the fearful and the apprehensive.


I believe if people went nude

(on suitably warm and dry days)

becoming gently aware of their connectedness

to the energy of all things,

within the fragility of our human bodies;

walking softly on beaches, meadows or sidewalks,

laughing in innocence and freedom,

it would be but a short time

before the idea of wearing clothes

just to cover one's physical nakedness

would seem quite outlandish.


I wonder when people

will choose to grow up and face life

as it was always meant to be experienced:

in a natural expression of who we are

perfect in motion,

unguarded in freedom,

perfect in choice

with a smile of love

for all things, including ourselves?

God On Trial


Why do humans love their gods, even when such gods are so obviously not “loving” if not downright evil? Take the case of the Christian god, for example. This entity is created from a collection of myths, historical and pseudo-historical accounts woven around the development of a particular nation known as Israel. To these accounts, the early Christian church added equally questionable accounts of Jesus (whom it called the Christ) and his followers.


The name of the Hebrew/Christian God is YHWH, often mistranslated as Jehovah. This Yahweh is the central figure of the Bible. We are repeatedly told he is a God of love. Perhaps the best quote to illustrate my point here is this: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that all who believe in him may have eternal life.”


It is claimed that Yahweh is a cosmic entity; that he created the heavens and the earth and all that exists. He created the first human pair, Adam and Eve, hence he is the father of all. Question: how well has humanity fared under that particular father? In Genesis, we see this all-knowing god placing two special trees in a garden and warning man not to eat of them, being the source of all knowledge and wisdom and eternal life. “If you eat of it, you will die!”


God knew that man would eat of the treeChaving all knowledge of past, present, future, and knowing, furthermore the kind of inquisitive nature he had given his “children.” So he places man in a no-win situation. Man does eat, and is cursed for indulging his God-given thirst for knowledge. Man is denied eternal lifeCnote: for trying to become like God (keep that in mind for a few seconds!)-and given misery to live with on a plagued and poisoned earth.


Consider that first curse: man is punished for trying to become like god, yet as we read the account of god's dealing with man, it is precisely because man fails to become like god that god continues to punish him, hound him, destroy him and to play favorites among the earth's peoples.


The nation of Israel, God's chosen, is saddled with a set of draconian rules of which any little infraction is punishable by stoning to death (which entails needless suffering and forces all to participate in the murder, since the entire tribe was to heave killing stones at the victims) This was one of God's favourite way of killing, but genocide, as practiced during the “flood”, as practiced upon the inhabitants of Canaan by Israel, then promised to Israel itself and which came to pass upon the ten tribes, and as promised again for the entire earth=s population in revelation, is also lots of fun. This is not enough, however, so God invents hell, a place of unimaginable torment, a lake of burning sulfur in which he first places Satan and his prophet, both alive, to be tormented day and night forever. Then, after a general resurrection, all peoples are judged and the vast majority not found worthy are also thrown alive in hell, to suffer the same fate. (Revelation 20)


According to biblical exegesis, God's love is unconditional. That is the sort of love we are exhorted to practice towards one-another if we want to see peace and justice reign in our world, and if we want to be called children of God. I have no argument with that, as it is true. My argument is with God: why does he expect us to be better than him? God reserves all the vengeance and malevolence against enemies for himself. We are to love our enemies, but God promises vengeance and dire punishment. He makes his enemies footstools for his feet. They are thrown into the great winepress of God's wrath and trampled, their blood overflowing out of the press and rising to the horses' bridles.(Revelation 14)


We are told that Jesus came to show God's unconditional love to man, yet even his teachings smack of violence too. Jesus' own life is one of violence. He was sent to earth by his father to die a violent death because his father was angry at man and could not be pacified otherwise than by human sacrifice. Is the requirement of blood sacrifice to appease a god an indication that that god is loving? I don't care what kind of mental gymnastics are performed on this thought, the answer must always come up negative! Unconditional love and blood sacrifice are certainly mutually exclusive terms! Unconditional love, by its very nature, requires no appeasement. If it does, it is not love, let alone unconditional.


Jesus enjoins his followers to be as merciful as their father (God)(Luke 6), so is it any wonder that Christianity, almost from infancy, has been saddled with innate violence? With the decimation of groups and sects which developed within the movement but did not follow mainline teachings? Should we be surprised at the horror of the European wars of religion? The bestiality shown by Christians against any non-Christian (pagan!) peoples they came across during the heydays of the making of empiresCmuch of which continues to this day in America, Africa, Southeast Asia and the Pacific Islands? Indeed, Christianity has followed the dictates of its God and practiced the same sort of “tough love” taught in the Bible, for the same end: profit and control.


What can be said then? Only this. We have evolved over the millennia, slowly but surely. It is with a sigh of relief that I use the expression “post-Christian world.” The defenders of Christianity are still many. The parasites who use it to feather their own nests still proliferate, but the end is in sight. The name will probably float around for many years hence, but its effects are being tempered by the vigor of renewal. People are tired of punishment and subsequent, inevitable violence. It doesn't work. We must find something better, to which I propose that same unconditional love which the god of Israel and Christianity does not deserve to be associated with, because his hands, his garments, are awash in the blood of his victims. It is time that he be dethroned. If he can't be better than an ordinary man in meting out justice, then let man be god and let us, as god, take responsibility for what takes place on this earth and every other place where we may go to reside, either temporarily or permanently. Let us love one another, not as God would have us, but as we must.

In The Matter Of Seeking Comfort


From many and varied journeys of discovery across these worlds I have noticed that it is natural for all sentient beings, on whatever path they be, to seek comfort. All need to find comfort. It is as necessary as any other basic ingredient that makes life worthwhile.


What constitutes comfort? It might be easier to describe conditions that create dis-comfort. Let's see: we are complex beings, so physical comfort may be of no value if our mind is in turmoil. Peace of mind may be useless when the body is in pain. Neither peace of mind nor body health may avail if we are troubled in spirit. Comfort is when all levels of what I call "me" are at peace with one-another and with the external environment. It is crucial for any ISSA being to find this place, or create it in order to evolve in a holistic healthy fashion.


Back to earth. Here I've discovered there are two basic ways I can create my own comfort. I can seek it from my environment, from others, or another - that defines the dependent being. Or, surprise of surprises, I can gain my own comfort by giving it to others - that defines self-empowerment.


Earth, as man has developed it, is not a friendly world. For most inhabitants it is a harsh and cruel passage with few comforts. No way to avoid that conclusion today. That being the case we find that most people expend much personal energy seeking comfort from others, drawing it in at the expense of their natural and social environment. They seek to change how "Powers" interact with them. Better conditions are sought. Better treatment. Safer relationships. Protection from exploitation or worse. The victims of our systems beg to be given a bit of comfort. Seldom do they find it. Every change they make to the system only results in more "discomfort" in other ways.


Recently a friend and I discussed the possibility of writing up our own lives, our own reality. I thought it was a good idea since that is basically what I have always done. But he brought me crashing down to simple earth reality with this: “I suspect that, given the opportunity to truly write our own lives, we might simply descend into some sort of self-centeredness. Would we not write our fantasies into reality? I suspect it would be only safe to write our own lives upon already having achieved some considerable spiritual maturity.”


Does that mean Earthians know and accept the fact they are incorrigibly selfish beings who would sacrifice the comfort of others routinely and deliberately in order to gain their own? The normally cutting edge of my mind would say, "What, surprised?" but another side says this is only part of the problem.


How would one arrive at a "spiritual maturity" able to understand the needs of the other must supercede my own? Only one way I know of: through experience. I think that most Earthians have experienced this place at some point or other in their lives, even if in the simple rescuing of a young bird fallen from a nest, or taking in a stray cat or dog or homeless person. Sometimes in having to care for someone's child when the mother is hospitalized. Sometimes carrying an old person's bags from the store to their car. Having a listening conversation with a lonely traveler in a bus station. Countless acts of selflessness are "committed" daily by countless individuals - yet these acts are never allowed to become the modus operandi of planetary human interaction.


Why not? Because they are individual acts by individuals towards individuals and individuals on this world are not self-empowered. They are taught everything ass-backward. If they do good they are not to sense the personal goodness of it, but relegate it to, "Oh, it was nothing." or "It was the right thing to do." Or a much more debilitating response: "It was God who moved me to do this - on my own I would have never done it."


While the great religions, so-called, have constantly urged people to be selfless, they have just as consistently dis-empowered them by claiming that without this or that "god" (system) no human could ever be a good person.


I am challenging that assumption. I am aware of the good I do, as I am aware of the good I should do and do not. I am no idiot: my left hand knows what my right hand does. So let me, from the goodness of my own human heart and from no other place, serve. I choose this because I now know by experience that, given a real choice - a truly free choice - that is what I would always choose.


It is not me that seeks to harm others to feather my own nest, it never was. It is belief systems and programming that crowd my mind and fight against my humanity. These demons are what I must defeat in order to finally make the jump to my next logical place of comfort. Yes, there is no greater comfort known to exist but the comforting of another. Who cares at what cost I accomplish this if in the end it makes me feel better about everything? Sacrificial selflessness equates personal comfort in the end.


When we choose this way as our normal way, and we encounter doubts about our personal sanity, we will hear the old master say, "Patience my young friend, patience." Yes, this requires patience and a ready will to forgive oneself for every failure so we do not dwell on them, and return to our goal, our passion.


Call it an awakening if you want. It's a beautiful and "comfortable" new awareness. Sets the tone for “the rest of my life” and maybe it will help you see yourself in a new and higher light.

Joy And Sorrow


The greatest love, the greatest romance, these lower worlds can ever know since time began is between Joy and Sorrow.


Though Joy may walk the highest peaks, draped in light, welcoming the dawn and bowing to the rising moon, she is never separated in mind from Sorrow, he who walks the darkest vales of earth. Though Joy may sing with the birds in the daylight of the world, she hears every sigh uttered by Sorrow among the cries of the destitute and the dying -- every sigh she does feel, however muted, however lost in the noise of the machine as it grinds life and flings the dust of it in Sorrow's tear-stained face.


Sorrow knows his love is in the light and holds his own so she never stops her singing. He hears her song through the days of oppression; is refreshed and strengthened by it. And in the movements of time, they come together in the twilight. They touch and hold hands for a time. See the sudden burst of sun at the edge of the world below the storm cloud after the rain's tears have washed the air clean and clear? Joy and Sorrow have found each other.


And in these in-between times, they make love. Their progeny is called Wisdom.


If one would know Wisdom, such a one needs learn to walk both, the path of Joy and the path of Sorrow. Such a one needs enter their world of complete free will and complete free choice. Neither path is easy, and one cannot walk one without walking the other.


Few there are who seek the company of Sorrow. Thus must they accompany pain, endure suffering and die. In experiencing these some believe they've encountered Sorrow, but they have not. Few there are who know Joy, seeking instead Happiness. But Happiness is a shallow mistress of fleeting temptations. She tosses pleasures about as toys. Those who can afford her, grab at her offers. Those who cannot, turn away disappointed, unfulfilled and angry.


And all who choose not to know Sorrow; who exchange Joy for Pleasure, must come face to face with their own death. Their own selfish death. Not the natural death of the body, but a cold death in the outer lands swept by great dark winds when the Great Door remains closed to them. The Door they pound on vainly. The Door that allows the laughter of the oppressed and destitute to filter out and turn to horrible shrieking in the ever-blowing winds.


Now is your time to choose. A difficult time. For Wisdom is needed to make the right choice, but Wisdom is earned from making the right choice. A conundrum, indeed.

Knowing Life; Doing Life


Think of all the instructions

we get through life:

how to do this or that,

how to think, what to think

when to think... and when not.


But what constitutes

what we call “life”?

Simply put: it's all a matter

of careful observation:

what works, what doesn't -

it's all there,

in the collective experience.


All that's necessary is to tap

into this great pool of knowledge.


Well, no, not quite:

there's a trick we must learn

that goes with knowledge:

it's this “doing life thing.”


“Practice what you preach,”

“walk your talk;”

“don't tell me, show me,”

sounds great: how is it done?


So what's the conclusion?

Life is knowing what to do,

and doing what is known.


Pretty simple:

why can't we seem to get it?

Knowing Love


Ah, Love.

Was there a more absurd, abused term?

It's a bit like “God” isn't it -

That is, it can mean

whatever one chooses to make it mean.

Can be used to justify just about any kind of action,

most of which is not loving.


Example?

Two people madly in love today,

and down the road, divorce -

was that love?


Another two madly in love today

and down the road - Headline:

Man murders wife in bed;

claims she was unfaithful.

Doesn't love forgive all wrongs?


An army marches out

against an “enemy”

and slaughters millions

in the name of patriotism...

that is, love of one's nation.

Doesn't love apply to enemies?


Between you and me,

I don't trust “love” -

too much horror and bloodshed

follows it around.


You want love? Try compassion.

Unlike the concept, “love”

it is impossible to fake compassion;

and equally impossible to sell it.


Why? Because real love

result only from compassion.

If it does not - it is not real!


So, if you would know love

live a compassionate life.

Leave It To The Universe?


Just leave it to the Universe,

your dreams will come true!

Hey, it's easy come and easy go:

and why should anybody care?


Are these advocates of mental turpitude

afraid to take the bull by the horns?

Afraid to make something less than perfect?

Afraid of judgment, or too lazy to try?

They sit around waiting for the Universe

To create something beautiful for them...


Dreams come true for me

I created, I shaped, I worked them,

pushed them out of my mind --

the gifts I gave myself and the world

were not accidents or happenstance;

the will of some unknown entity

hiding out there beyond the stars,

sometimes benevolent, sometimes malevolent;

sometimes solvent, sometimes not!

(and I've seen many an individual

who claimed his 'god' would provide,

die sad and sick and broke...

and what does that say of their faith?)


If, as they say, it is meant to be

I know very well, it is up to me

I see no one else waiting to take my place

At the proverbial wheel.

Little Beaver


“My son, it is time to tell you about your mother.”


The man and his young son were sitting on a log by the river as the moon rose over snow-covered peaks. The water made a lapping sound and somewhere across the little river, in the bushes, an owl called.


AYou were just past three summers when your mother left us. You hear many strange stories about her, but I must tell you what I know so you will be less confused.


“They say your mother was a great Shaman -- she was. They say she was crazy: she was not. Many summers ago a party of hunters from another village came upon a young girl wandering alone in the mountains along the big River. She could not speak our tongue and she was different than anyone they had ever seen. She had very large eyes the colour of water in ice. Her hair was like the water when a small breeze moves it and it resembled the bark of the cedar in colour. They kept the girl through the hunt. In one moon cycle the girl had learned to speak our tongue perfectly. When asked where she came from, she explained, “From a cave full of fire. I was in an egg which was shot out of the flame and when it stopped rolling, it opened and I do not know anything else. I remember a name which in your language sounds like ‘She-ya-neh’ but I do not know what it means.”


The hunters came to our small village with their prize. My father, the chief, had the women clean the girl and inspect her. He decided to buy her if she displayed a healthy bleeding. There was much feasting at that time. The hunters stayed in our village, enjoying the food and the girls were happy. Some babies were made at that time, yes. I was very young then, too young yet to enjoy the girls, but I made friends with the strange slave girl. She did not speak much so we just sat together, or swam in the river. She was very strong and fast, faster than any boy. She won all the foot races and could climb trees as if she had a squirrel’s claws. She became fascinated with our canoes and soon could paddle away so fast only the strongest hunters in the bigger canoes could catch her. She was forbidden to use the canoes then.


At her bleeding my father decided to buy her. Again there was much feasting. Then he made a ceremony in which she was set free from bondage and could become my wife. After two more summers, we were finally married. It had been expected that she would be very fertile, and give me many healthy sons. However no child could she grow. Years passed and the women began to shun my wife. She became a loner, sometimes disappearing in the hills for an entire moon cycle. During these years she demonstrated the ability to heal broken bones and to prevent disease from spreading. She talked to the animals and even the spirits of the plants and the land obeyed her. Yes, she was a great Shaman, my wonderful and barren She-ya-neh. She never seemed to miss not having children. She was full of curiosity and everything to her was a wonder. She was, hmmm, very promiscuous also -- well -- she went with many men, and they told stories of her ways which were strange to us. I was not jealous of this. One could not get jealous of your mother, unless one were a woman. Many women in the village came to hate her popularity, her crazy, wild ways, and especially her freedom.


Your mother’s physical strength was known across many valleys. How she shamed the men in their hunts, their sports, their fights! She could outrun any man, outsmart and outfight anyone. She had skills with her hands and feet we had never seen. She was as fast as the lightning: when she struck a blow, it was impossible to see where it came from.


During the high water season, when the canoe races are held, she would taunt the men to best her. She was not, by law, permitted to compete with the men. So she would sit quietly in her canoe, behind the starting line, wait until the men were into their race, then push her own canoe in the race, soon overtaking ever the fastest one and always finishing first. How my own heart swelled with pride to see her win that way, yet how puzzled I was that such a woman could not bear a child for her man, or for any man.


Let me now speak of a time many summers past our wedding. One day, just before the long shadows, she came to the shore where I was preparing my canoe for the fishing and took my arm. Her eyes spoke a powerful thought and her body gave off a strange, pleasant and irresistible scent. I tried to explain that I was very busy and we could do that later that night but she spoke again from within her mind, and I went with her. We walked for a long time, through places I had never been, until we came to a clearing. In the middle was a small hut, large enough to accommodate two adult people. All around were flowers, and even on the roof: red and blue flowers. They gave off the same scent she did. It was like a drug to me. I reached for her, as you have seen the young men and women do, but she stopped me. She undressed me, then herself, and together, we rolled our bodies among the strange flowers. Soon, my head was buzzing like a nest of wild bees, and my heart sounded like our drums at the great feasts by the ocean. She then took my hands and pushed me inside the hut. I felt as if I were inside one of those great black clouds that give off lighting and thunder.


At that time, we made you. When she was pregnant with you she became more normal. She was careful for you and after you were born she was a perfect mother. She took you everywhere and you always slept next to her. She gave you her milk freely and you never went hungry and seldom cried. All her energies were spent on you. No more sports or men or wanderings in the forests. She stayed near the village and attended to her duties as healer and midwife with great diligence. She began to be liked by some of the women again.


But one day, she disappeared. She left you in the care of her best friend, and just walked away. This was bad luck because in the village were five strangers, hunters, who had heard the stories about her sexual prowess, and her fighting abilities were now a legend. These young hot-blooded fools decided to track your mother to see where she would go and perhaps to beat her down and have their way with her.


They followed her until she came to the edge of a small lake. She made several signs in the water with her fingers, then stood facing the sun, not moving a muscle for a long time. It was as if she was asleep they said later. They approached stealthily, as trained hunters can do, two from one side, two from another and one from behind. When the one behind her was close enough to grab her, he stretched out his arm to put his hand around her throat. As he did so, she turned and let out a blood-curdling screech. Her right arm shot out and at the end, what seemed like huge talons, locked around the man’s neck and snapped it as if it was a dry twig. Still screeching, she unfolded huge wings and flew away to the west, over the trees.


The four men brought back the body of their dead comrade to the village and told their story. At first no one believed them, but they saw the marks on the dead man’s neck and the story became more and more believable. I was confused. I thought I knew your mother quite well. I knew she was strong, but she was not a beast. I also knew she was a healer, not a killer. Your mother would not have killed the man, just beat him down and made sport of him, taunting him for being weaker than a mere woman. Then she would have challenged the other four men to try their skills against hers. She would have beaten them, as easily as an eagle takes a rabbit. I know this about your mother.


My son, sometimes people think they know the truth. Sometimes they believe that they saw what they say was there. I believe that there are others, like your mother, out there. Some are not like her in spirit. Perhaps these young fools thought they followed your mother, but I know she was a master at disappearing from any stalker. In fact that is the only time anyone was ever able to claim to have crept up on her un-noticed. I believe to this day that the creature they encountered was another one, perhaps a spirit which resembled her. I know it wasn’t your mother.


When she returned to the village after three suns, she was smiling and happy. She showed unbelief when she heard the story, and spoke to no one. It was as if she was hurt by their willingness to believe such things of her. The story became a part of her legacy, nevertheless. She became restless again. You were three summers when she exuded that strange scent again, and I went with her to a hut in the forest. We made your sister that time. I will tell you about your sister, but for now let me finish this part. I decided to return to the place where she had made the hut, after two suns had passed. There was no hut, not a single sign that anyone had ever been there. I know it was the right place. I had broken a twig to mark the place, and scuffed the earth in one spot. The broken twig was there, and the mark of my moccasin in the earth, but nothing else. No scent and no flowers. I was saddened and apprehensive.


When your mother began to show signs of being pregnant, I rejoiced. She had told me it was a girl child this time. It didn’t matter to me. You were so beautiful already, and slightly different than the other young children. You were already taller than all the others, and your eyes were of a yellow hue. Your hair, though thinner, was longer and had the same strange waves in it. I knew you would become a famous hunter and chief in your time. I dreamt also of having a daughter who would be as strong and intelligent as your mother; a true Shaman, who would belong to the tribe, and not to the wilderness. We are too small a village to hire and keep our own Shaman. We need one born among us, one with the great powers of your mother, so the people from the other villages will respect us and come to us in their time of need. You see, as long as She-ya-neh, your mother, lived among us we had no disease and we were never attacked or raided.


About four moons after we had been in the hut, your mother came to me at dusk. It was a beautiful evening after a sunset filled with the fire of the Great Spirit. It meant well for the fishing...


The man stopped here. He reached down and poked the embers of their small fire. The boy ran into the bushes then came back and wrapped a warm beaded blanket around his slim figure. “Please continue, Father. When I am chief, I will need to know all about my mother, so I won’t have to listen to stories made up to make her look bad and discredit my place among the elders.”


“You are wise, my son, far beyond your summers. Your mother did not take her gifts away when she left. I believe that soon, you will find within your hands great powers my son. You will be the Shaman we have been asking for. Chief and Shaman. No one has had such honour among us before. Yet I know this is to be...


So that evening, your mother knelt before me in our house. In her large eyes, I saw tears. She seldom showed tears. Her face was sad, yet I felt a deep excitement in her. She spoke into my mind as she always did when she expressed deep feelings.


“I am going away tonight. Now. I will not be returning, ever. Our son is well. Nothing will happen to him now. Our daughter will be with me, and well taken care of. Some day, you will meet her. I cannot say more. Now let me go, and do not come after me, or even look at me as I go. Put your love in our son, and when I am gone, find him a suitable mother and wife to cook for you and to comfort you at night when it is cold. I must return to the place where I come from. Here, take this talisman I wore in my hair all these years, and when our son is old enough, put it on his head. It is a living thing, a gift of the Great Spirit for the great travelers. Do not forget. Yo nah la! Aheya noha!”


With these strange words, she crossed her arms in front of her face, closed her fingers gently then turned and walked away. I heard her footsteps for a short time, then nothing. I stepped outside our house, holding you in my arms. The night suddenly became very still. The coyotes quieted down and the owls stopped hooting. Even the frogs became still and the breeze died down. After some time, I saw a great fire in the forest. It lit up the sky, even the underside of the clouds. Then I heard a great waterfall roaring, after which the fire rose up and soon there was just a thin trail in the sky, above the village. Then, like the shooting stars, it was gone. I never saw your mother again.


My son, look up there. See that small star village? Often your mother pointed there and sighed. She said she felt something being sent to her from those stars. She also said that the spirits who travel the trails of the stars must obey their own seasons. Stars wander all over, and sometimes they are close enough to each other to send visitors there. The visitor must then wait until the star returns at that same place to return. Your mother’s people travel the paths of the stars, my son. They come once, then are gone. Sometimes, they can return, and sometimes not. It takes much power to follow the paths of the stars, and you must also be a true friend of the Great Spirit if you do not want to lose yourself in that great blackness between the star villages.


My son, if one day a tall grey-eyed woman appears to you, or wanders into your village, or meets you on the shore of a far-away lake, do not look upon her as a man looks upon a woman. That woman will be your sister. Remember that. When you marry, you shall marry one of our kind, one born in a village within this valley. That is how it must be.”

“Thank you father.” The boy yawned and leaned against the man. Overhead, it seemed to him that one star twinkled brighter and faster than any other. He pointed at it with his finger but the son had fallen asleep on his lap. He rolled himself off the log and wrapped in their warm blankets, they both slept peacefully as the moon went down.

Losing Sight


As steel filings on a magnet

are overwhelmed by its power,

so are we drawn into the currents

of other people's forces;

draining our strength,

feeding their hunger for control,

causing us to lose sight

of our sense of direction.


We must find the strength

to contain this hunger for power

--this lust for control--

so stifling to creativity:

We cannot long survive

being thrust in strange rivers:

to do nothing

is to become flotsam

on the sea of time.

Night Fall


Evening has drawn to a close;

darkness prepares to bar the door

against the light

when, with one last challenge

over the horizon,

the clouds tear apart

and for one brief moment

red flares illuminate the sky.

The West bursts into flames

and in the East

the mountains burn crimson-

their eternal snows

reflecting the fiery glow

from this dying day.

But inevitably the challenge

was for naught.

All is darkness now.

Now 'THAT' Is A Question!


Those who explore life are always seeking answers to the endless series of questions along the roads less traveled by.


It seems rather obvious that life "evolves" as a result of questions being asked.


So the trick in evolution is knowing which questions to ask so as not to be lead 'round and 'round the mulberry bush.


The usual questions are easy enough and require little effort and certainly no daring.


"Mom, when I grow up will I be pretty? Will I be rich?"


And mom answers, predictably, "Que sera, sera."


...Or... "Do you think it will still be hot by the weekend? Should we plan on having an outdoor party and barbecue?"


"I don't know, who am I, the weatherman?"


I'm not talking about that kind of question/answer scenario. I'm talking about forcing answers from question asked outside the normal sets of equations.


So here's THE question of the day, perhaps of my entire life; the inevitable question resulting from a serious exploration of the meaning of life.


"What are Earthian humans good for?"

Ode To The Flush Toilet


It was evolutionarily inevitable

that man would discover the flush toilet:

no more cold walks and frozen buns

and tickling spiders weaving below the rim

hoping to catch a whopping meal...

though, on the down side of the ledger,

fewer moonlight strolls or moons exposed...

Now you sit and meditate in full cosiness

within the warmth of your gas-fired pipes

while the little fan above sings its merry tune...

Ah! the modern toilet, where the best of

devotional reading eventually finds its way...

Flip a chrome handle and the power of water

swirling in great vortices, round and round

sucks your wastes down the tunnel of smells

to the sewage treatment plant, the cave

of re-creation... or on to the sea of forgetfulness...

All is joy and harmony until the kid

flushes his sister's hamster down the hole

and it gets stuck somewhere in the return bend.

Now you face the price of comfort: penance!

Either you disassemble the entire system

all the while threatening to put the brat

in the spot where you dug out the rat,

or you call the dreaded plumber

who charges an arm, a leg and all your cash,

to exorcize the throne and once more

make the blessings flow.

Past Lives Remembering


Many months ago I was attempting to put the concept of "past lives" in a way that could be shared meaningfully with others without getting into "arguments" in mindsets.


Question: What do I mean when I speak of my past lives? How do I know -- really know -- that what I am remembering is indeed how it was?


Everything is interconnected. Including timescapes. Slices of time forming a "time-pie." They never come out of the pie; it never gets eaten unless the Cosmos disintegrates. So these slices remain side by side, and we travel through them, or are them.


"Remembering" is not really the proper term for past life memories. Remembering is to look through a photo album, or old letters. It is to watch a home video made with a camcorder. Made with a machine. But our mind is anything but a machine. It is a living entity. In fact, we are primarily mind.


So what we are engaging in is "memoring". We are using our mind to travel through time. What is being "viewed" is not necessarily that of an individual I call "me" (but could be). I may be tapping into a huge chunk of "time" and "memoring" the genesis of a world lasting several billion years. I am there as mind, either as that world, a part of it, or just observing and waiting for my turn on the stage. When I hit that stage, I may be an entire species, not one individual. I may be a mountain range. These things/events become my memory. My mind absorbs these memories, not for individual details, but as the flow of a huge river, a flow that is much more than individual drops of water moving side by side.


Later (say now) I see things from the viewpoint of a tiny and complex entity called a human being. To recall the memory of that previous time, I individualize myself in it. I enter into a slice of it. That's "memoring" -- placing myself in the movie as an individual actor so as to make sense of it all. I "humanize" my passage for clarity and ease of adapting what I bring back to the here and now.


As Spock might say: "It's logical, Jim."


After all, the purpose of the exercise is not to "wow" an audience, but to empower myself, to equip myself, to do the things which today are my passion. By tracking my performance in evolution, I can make course corrections when necessary, tighten others, abandon patterns which had little or no success and take courage from the good things I accomplished.


Likely, as I re-evolve myself into a more Cosmic form, I will abandon the smaller, individual slice or aspect I choose to use now and return to an expanded form, say planetary or galactic. Maybe even universal. New paradigm. And my "memoring" will provide the pattern for this new thing. Again, logical. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do."


I see "remembering" as going back and putting old pieces back together so as to make sense of today, attempting to recapture some old glory such as "I was Alexander the Great" or "I was Cleopatra" as if that meant anything. Remembering is buying a historical house and spending a fortune restoring it so as to be able to live in it. I've always thought that to be a foolish waste of time and energy.


They're just houses. Old bones. Let them go. You can walk through an old graveyard on a dark and stormy night (!) and "feel". That's "memoring". It doesn't mean that you died and were buried there in a past life. It doesn't mean there is anyone there who wants to impart a terrible secret to you! It means you are in empathy with the energies in the graveyard. So another word for "remembering past lives" is to be in empathy with the forces of infinity.


When we enter the past as human or whatever, we do so as ghosts [I prefer the term shadows]. We adapt ourselves to that time and place, borrowing a suitable form, and in that form we accept the consequences, however strange, humorous or terrible, for being in that space/time. We can interact with what is there without causing any serious permutations.


"There is a purpose to time Mr. Wilson. It keeps everything from happening all at once." -

(from "TimeScape" - the movie)

Shadow Vision


Upon the mountain side

I rest: my shadow

laughing as I cry

in emptiness of soul,

unaware my

tears flowing give

new life

to a solitary withered flower.

As it opens in

hope,

radiating

earth energy

touches my spirit:

light espouses dark, I

discover the harmony.

Set free to soar,

my eagle spirit

with keen eyes

embraces

the breath of the

earth

and perhaps

beyond.

The Consequences Of Ignorance


We're so used to the bad news!

But what of it?

Put the price of fuel up

and traffic on the streets doubles!

Mention that trees are being cut down

at an alarming rate: what happens?

House construction skyrockets!


Air pollution? Greenhouse effects?

Great: trade in the old sedan

for a four by four Sports Utility Vehicle:

get half the mileage at twice the price!


A great sickness

plagues humans everywhere -

not just in “rich” nations -

I'm told that in Thailand

air pollution from traffic

is worse than in Los Angeles...!


What makes people heedlessly enjoy

doing more of what kills and destroys?

Lust, for profit; for pleasure:

poison the land for a higher yield

(tomorrow never comes;

tomorrow takes care of itself...);

imbibe drugs for a higher high!


Consume, consume, consume...

that's what our masters want -

but the question remains:

how do they manage it?


Simple cognitive dissonance:

what the species is afraid of most,

the species will ignore most

and carry on to the destruction of our world

as if we were never told;

as if we'd never heard

what the consequences of our ignorance

will ultimately be.

The Dandelion Flower


One spring morning

I went into the front yard

and saw a dandelion flower:

I bent down and smelled it,

yes, that's what I did.


The next day

I went into the front yard

and saw a dandelion flower:

I bent down and pulled it up,

yes, that's what I did.


The next day

I went into the front yard

and saw no dandelion flower:

I sat down and I cried,

yes, that's what I did.


(this is a “wisdom thing")

The Titans - Balance


The weather has changed again and the River is rising. A more than wonderful day out on the waters today and the kayak was happy to be bouncing again! Lots of ducks - mallards, widgeons, wood ducks, green-winged teals, mergansers, Canada geese and various shore birds. The gulls are mostly gone, back to the sea for their nesting season. They'll be back in August. Some cormorants still hanging around. Lots of song birds now, hiding in the leaves and singing away. Didn't see any seals, but I know they are there. No deer or coyotes seen, but lots of tracks. Same with the beavers - very active.


Blue skies with a scattering of white clouds along the mountains, strong winds, strong currents - cool waters and warm sands. A day of innocence. Running, swimming, paddling, sleeping, and free sun tanning all day... it does not get better!


In the late afternoon, I decided to head upstream for a "hard" paddle. Something very interesting happened. A strong wind was blowing n-easterly over the water. An equally strong current was

flowing s-westerly. Two giant forces battling it out on the River, canceling each other out. Enter the third force: me. Puny by comparison, but when the Titans are deadlocked, that leaves the field to me. The kayak wasn't moving at all, just sitting there, dragged by the current one way, pushed by the wind the other until the paddles went in motion. Then it moved as if on a flat body of water - if one ignores the waves and whirlpools.


"Use the Force, Luke!"


Indeed, we can use the Force. And we can accomplish much with the Force. First we need to "bind" the giants that would push us this way or that. We need to learn to direct their great strength, not in our favour, but against each other so we may then engage our own "Third Force" - where the real ISSA work gets done.


All my life, I've been counseled to go with this or that. Live in the Light! - that's a common thing heard if one is active and involved in "stuff". Obey God! - there's another one. Vote! - you hear that one a lot.


Then there are all the cries from "the Other Side" that scream for our attention: To buy more stuff; make or save money; become an instant millionaire with a lotto ticket; increase health; grow bigger tits or have longer orgasms... hey, the sky's not the limit at what the "dark side" will offer you!


But I discovered that the dark side is no better or worse than the "light" side! It's a matter of perspective. The thing to go for is balance; that place in the middle of it all where the great forces counteract and become still. There, we can move by ourselves if we are self-empowered and have some clue as to what we wish to accomplish. But the Sirens are on both sides of this still place and if we listen to one side or the other... then our "Third Force" is lost.


We don't have to overcome the Titans or harness them to do our bidding. That's where people really go wrong and why they seldom fulfill their true dreams. The trick is simple - to slip through on the "Nexus" -- the razor's edge where their forces meet and are neutralized.


"Small is the path and narrow the way that leads to life, and few there are who find it..."


(ISSA - acronym for Intelligent, Sentient, Self Aware. An "ISSA" is an intelligent, sentient, self-aware being. Earthian humans are not generally seen as such, but rather considered to be pseudo-human).

Today God Must Die


I should not have come here.

Why not? You were created to suffer.

Because I am a woman?

Because you care.

About you?

More, much more—about them.

As do you.

Perhaps, but in a very different way.


Do only fools fall in love?

Yes, wise fools. The truly foolish do not fall,

they only experience the attraction of love.

Are we wise, you and I?

Soon you will get your answer: they come.

You will die. Must I watch and remain?

What will I do with my pain?

What you’ve always done: bear it

until you learn a better way, until you transform yourself.

Into what?

Compassion. You will learn to detach yourself.

You will learn the deepest form of sorrow.

You will engender, gestate and birth joy.


Tell me again where you go after your trial?

I go to the ‘not yet place’ I spoke of.

Will I know you again in a new time?


He takes her proffered hand and holds it gently for a moment

(their last moment)

and she receives her answer: all that remains for her, of her,

to bear her pain,

and his,

and yes, the others’ also.

(for they know not what they do and it begins by forgiving)


Today, God must die and she

who loves Him beyond herself, can only witness.

Vanishing Life


Spring: a time of renewal

for all things natural and good

emerging once more

from winter's frozen grasp.

But for us on planet Earth

it isn't so,

for in the mountains we hear

the harsh noise of chainsaws

and the crashing of trees

in the dark canyons.


We see the smoke of fires

as the last forests are clear cut

making way for “chemical” crops,

giant feedlots and greenhouses -

and cementing it together:

suburban sprawl

wrapped so neatly

in lovely gray ribbons of ashphalt.


Spring once meant new life

for planet and people -

now it signals renewed destruction

in a System that sees profit

as the only value worth considering.


Does nature cry her loss

under the clouds

or in the darkness of night?

Does it mourn the dead squirrels

and homeless owls?

Or is it as mindless and heartless

as man?


I don't know;

I don't really care.

It's not up to “nature”

to correct man's mistake

with a sudden “Earth change”

for what man does not learn

by his powers of observation,

he will never learn at all.

What Are We Losing?


A life-long machine fixer and garden-variety philosopher asks: what are we losing in our growing love affair with, and growing dependence on, machines and computers?


When young I was mesmerized, fascinated, seduced even, by powerful coal, diesel and gas-fired mechanical monsters; and by radios. Later, it was the transistorized printed circuit and finally, the computer -- that latest bit of technological development that is quickly insinuating itself into every aspect of our lives, into practically every toy, gadget, tool or piece of equipment we use.


But in these later years, as I force my mind to move into more open vistas, most of which are beyond this earth and this 3-D awareness, I find that same mind losing its interest in human technology, and especially in computers. I find most of it increasingly debasing and repugnant.


There is something akin to mental junk-food about computers today. They are creating a generation of zombie-like, dysfunctional and incoherent humanoids lost in cyber-space. Not a space of their own making, but the seductive space controlled by commercial whores. A space where all kinds of immoral activities can be performed by the mind via keyboard, mouse, monitor and sound system. A space where any such activity carries no responsibility... and is not "supposed" to carry side effects away from the computer.


Computers have not opened up a world of great achievement, but the opposite. They have given the controlling "system" its greatest power over individuals ever. Computers have become more than tools. They are mind-probes. When they ask your opinion on the internet, for example, it's not a popular vote! They want to know how they can tailor their offerings to basic (and basest) human responses. How to tailor their "infotainment" to the plethora of human emotions, to weaken and bind the human condition ever tighter to the controlling elitist apparatus. All of this so they can lie, oppress, abuse, destroy, enslave, starve and kill with less and less opposition. The more it is made "visible" in the world of computers, the less real it is to the senses. Computerized de-sensitizing.


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