Friday, 26 February 2016

On Joining The Human Race

subtitled: On Men, Old And Young, Having Visions And Dreams

This is further on a theme that I mentioned in my blog of a couple of days ago, of having come from a higher dimension to give a hand on this one, in its transformation, onto a higher rung of the ladder of life, of consciousness; out of its 3D depths, in a realm of duality/polarity, and seeming separation, and into at the very least the next higher level, if not ‘bleeding into’ ones next highest to it.

I joined the human race really the day my brother died.  Up ’till then I felt like a stranger in a strange land.  What was all this warring and stuff all about??  Why didn’t people get along with each other???  I finally figured out that it was because of money.  Money, instead of being merely a means to an end - the end of sharing goods and services with one another; the noble end of incarnate life - had become an end in itself.  The end, of life, it seemed.  What a minuscule vision, I remember thinking, somewhere along the way, of my journey on this planet.  This lovely planet, being trashed by these inhabitants, who sometimes seemed little better than warring tribes of great apes.  Stuck in their conditioning.  Territorial, and all that jazz, about our ancestry.  What about our larger ancestry, I wondered.  Our real ancestry.  Where we really came from.  These bodies - these vessels, these vehicles, for our souls to inhabit for a time and season; for a reason - may have had ancestral connection with such as great apes.  But we - inside of our suits; like wet suits, or deep-sea diving suits, it felt to me -  were made of different stuff.

Were made of light.

E = mc2.  I think Einstein got that right.  (It turns out that he wasn’t all that right in some of his theorizing.  But with this ‘one,’ he was on to something.)  Matter is actually made of energy. (And crystalline in nature.)  The energy of Light.  And we can learn to ‘unlock’ that energy, from its Light source, and transmute it into matter.  And thus, the ‘replicators’ that are now being talked about.  How we can manifest all of our needs, out of the Light of which we are a part.

Manifest.  I am reminded of the blessing that I say - started saying, many years ago, when I started thinking of these sorts of things more deeply than my human conditioning had led me to do so up to that point in time - over my food, with my hands placed over it in such a manner as to send it into my food; completing the circuit:

‘May the strength that I will derive from this food be used in serving Thee; and may I proceed in health, and happiness, and holiness.'1 (Pause)  ‘Now let the vibratory rate of this food be such as to draw me closer to Thee; and in all things, let not my will but Thine be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven.’  And then I have added to it, more recently, given the extreme adulteration of our foodstuffs that has been going on, by people consumed by lust for money, and power: ‘And if there be any toxicity in this food, may it be transmuted back into pure energy, to be used for the highest good.’  And then even more recently I have added/been drawn to add: ‘And I give thanks, and appreciation, for the nourishment that I receive from this food, directed to all those beings, animal, vegetable, and mineral, that have had a hand in its production; and in particular to Gaia, who nourishes us on so many levels.  Even so.  Amen.’

Now, to say, that I’m not all that sure about the wrapping-up use of the word ‘Amen’.  That could be merely a vestige of our human experience through ancient Egyptian rituals.  But it could also be a vestige of our human experience through ancient Indian/Sanskrit rituals, as in use of the sound ‘Om’.  All I know is that I have felt drawn to use it, to wrap my blessing up with.

Who knows where these things actually originate from…

And all of this is just by way of ‘just saying’………

And on that note, and to finish up the ‘note’ that I opened this sharing up with, about a moving human experience I had:

My brother, who was three years older than I, had a dream, in his later years (he was only a late thirty-something, at that) to put the Book of Mormon into filmic form. We had been born into ‘the Church,’ but it never took all that much for either of us in our earlier years;2 but in later years he had ‘found his way back into’ it, and was such a staunch believer in it that he dedicated his adult life - such as it ended up being - to attempting to raise the money to make a film, or a series of films, of the story carried in that book.3  It was in the course of that attempt that he lost his life, in a quixotic search for buried treasure.  And, though I was not at that time fully ’back in the fold’ of the Mormon Church,4 I could relate to his quest (had been on a similar one of my own; definitely another story, albeit related); and found myself grieving, terribly, at the word of his demise, with uncontrollable sobs wrenching my body.  I had never had such a feeling - such a release (of pent-up energy??) - happen to me since, or before, my ‘spiritual experience’ of over a decade before then, at university; which caused me to drop out of school and start my search in life for capital-t Truth in earnest.   

We truthseekers have a way of throwing ourselves fully into our searches. 

It’s how - and who - we are.  In our quest to join the human race with its higher components.       

On my daily constitutional I pass a Christian church’s ‘soup kitchen’ doorway, outside of which sometimes the down-and-outers who gather at it for their evening meal (or perhaps their only one for the day; I do not know their individual stories. At least, not on this level) flake out right there on the sidewalk, pulling something over their eyes, trying to forget, for at least that sleep’s while, their pain.  As happened today, on the outward-bound leg of my daily journey.  I hear the unspoken cry from the crumpled figure on the sidewalk (this particular such figure happened to be that of a young man): ‘No one cares whether I live or die.’  I want to stop by and touch gently and say to such individuals: ‘I care.  For, I am you.  And you are me.  And we are One, with the All That Is.  And this, too, shall pass away.’  But I keep on, on my daily, because I can do nothing about his or her pain at the moment.  That church is doing something, at least, in that regard.5  

And then, on my homeward leg, and stopping off at my neighborhood supermarket for a single item, in the queue at the checkout line that I chose,6 I happened to get behind a youngish woman who spent over $450 on her weekend shopping.  And the answer, Friend, is not to steal from the one to give to the other.  It is to help us all recognize who we are, really.  

And therein lies 

The Answer.



1 N.B. When I first developed this blessing - at a Trappist monastery in upstate California, where I had gone for a weekend retreat from where I lived at the time, in the East Bay area of central California - I varied between invoking ‘holiness’ and ’wholeness’.  But for some reason, I kept going back to ‘holiness,’ rather than invoking the other quality in that place.  Never knew why.  It just felt more ‘right’.
     But then, there is no right or wrong, is there.  But thinking makes it so…   

2 Our mother had divorced our father when I was still in diapers, and when she remarried (when I was halfway through the first grade), and again when she divorced her second husband (when I was in about the fourth or fifth grade), she dutifully sent us off weekly to ‘Mormon’ - i.e.., Latter-Day Saints (LDS); more specifically, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, to give it its proper due - Sunday school.  Which was quite possibly, even undoubtedly, part of the (original) divorce agreement.  
     She never went herself.  In later years I found out that she had been exposed to the idea that Joseph Smith was a fraud; that the Temple proceedings of the Mormon Church (which she had submitted to in order to get her divorce) were simply taken from the Freemasons, of which Smith was a member, as well as starting a church.  All another story.  This here is just by way of clarifying my relationship with a human church/religion in my life.  

3 A story of a Hebraic group of people, from the ‘Holy Land’ area, who had been brought out and grafted elsewhere, over to the Central America area, in B.C. years, for ‘a marvelous work and a wonder’ - for God to give Mankind a lesson, or lessons, in belief.  It is a long story, and literally.  Mark Twain called the Book of Mormon “chloroform in print,” and, in attempting to read it myself, I fully understand why he felt that way about it.  
     Okay.  Briefly, the story of its origins: 
     Joseph Smith was a young man living in western New York State in the early 1800s who had developed a reputation for seeing things - visions, in-sights of things to come, where things were located - in a ‘peep stone’ that he put in (the darkness of) his hat and looked into from time to time, and told people what he saw.  The critic’s story goes like this: An evangelistic Christian preacher and avid historian by the name of Sidney Rigdon had come across an unpublished ‘romance’ written by a man named Solomon Spaulding about life in Central America in olden days, and, ever passionate about his leadership ambitions and skills - and at a time of the ferment of a religious Great Awakening taking place in the country - hit on the idea of embellishing it (with the aid of others) and passing it off as a true story, to start a branch of Christianity by, that he would lead.  He had heard of Smith’s reputation for seeing things in a ‘peep stone,’ and added two and two, and a religion - or, rather, a branch of a religion - was born.  The ‘story’ was that Smith had found some gold plates buried in a hill in the western New York area, on which were engravings, like Egyptian cuneiform, that he was given the power - by an angel named Moroni - to translate, looking in his aforementioned ‘magic’ hat; and the rubes - so that story goes -  bought it…The historical fact is that Rigdon was, indeed, highly involved in the early days of the ‘religion’ that Smith started talking about (‘joining the stick of Joseph’ - i.e., the Book of Mormon - ‘with the stick of Judah’ - i.e., the Bible), but, as these things sometimes do, the story took on a life of its own, and he ended up on the sidelines, as the Church, after Smith’s death (at the hands of a mob, in the state of Illinois by then), went West, and prospered under the strong leadership rather of Brigham Young, and Rigdon was left on the banks of a rather raging river that took its own subsequent course; with Mormon apologists saying that the Spaulding-Rigdon hypothesis has been ‘disproved’.  1) Not so’s I have been able to discover; and 2) Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they…
     What do I believe?  After extensive research into the whole matter, I had found enough to convince me that there was, indeed, a whole lotta connin’ goin’ on, about the Church’s origins. (Smith and Rigdon fleecing wide-eyed converts of their money in a ‘revelation-instructed’ bank that went terribly bust; etc.)  And, after a particularly in-depth period of time engaged in research in Salt Lake City (after some research in the stacks of the Library at BYU) about the Church’s early days, I formally tendered my resignation from its ranks.  This was in late 1968-’69.  And I have never looked back since.  Except for one niggling little fact.   Read on…     
4 As I indicated, I had my own on-again off-again relationship with the Church.  But that’s another story as well.  Except just to say: though I ultimately read my way out of it (digging deep into the founding facts of it), I have never, to this day, found an answer to the curious fact that a large, strangely carved stone (ka a stela) was found many years ago - I think around 1941 - by some archeologists (from the National Geographic Society along with the Smithsonian Institution) on the Mexico/Guatemala border that depicted a scene from a story straight out of the Book of Mormon. It was about an old man - with a beard (a bearded old man, in Central America???), and in near-Eastern clothing - sitting with his back against a tree, with a river running close by, and the man having a visionary dream, of some characters also depicted on the stone, with its Tree of Life motif.  It has been dubbed the Lehi stone, after the character in the story; and a replica of it (which I have seen firshand) resides in the Archeology Department of Brigham Young University, in Utah.  
     Specifically, in Provo.  My birth town.  Curiously enough…

5 And good on them, for such service to humanity.  Forget all the complaints about The Christian Church.  They do good works.  What are you doing, about the human condition???

6 I could have gone to the self-checkout section, but I like the human contact.  If I owned a business I would undoubtedly choose one where I could have such contact, rather than lease, or buy, robots.  As is happening, more and more anymore.  Which we are going to have to deal with.  And soon.
     But I digress.
     Sort of.

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