Saturday, 15 April 2017
Postcard From The Belly Of The Beast
Watching the various kinds of sea birds down at the beach this early evening - the pacific scene still well lit up by the lengthening spring suntime - reminded me of the ephemerality of life. They can fly, but only to the limits of the matrix, so to speak. To say:
Life is phenomenal; is a phenomenon. When matter vibrates to a particular frequency, it 'gives off' - produces - the illusion, the phenomenon, the atomic 'shelf', of solidity. A higher or lower frequency, and it wouldn't be sensible to our sensory equipment. And that's why some healers - according to various personal observations - can reach into the bodies of their patients, e.g.: they are attuning to a different frequency, and not letting the phenomenal outer body get in the way. It is also why, according to a report by Colin Wilson, at least one person in our realm of experience has 'learned' to fly: We can 'think' ourselves beyond the strictures of this 3D phenomenal 'realm'.*
It's all in the mind, the saying has it. So: A higher vibratory rate than this 3D 'realm' that we inhabit could be interpenetrating ours, and we wouldn't even know it, because our sensory apparatus wouldn't/doesn't pick it up. And that's why in the Ascension process going on - it is said, by reputable sources; at least to some - we don't actually 'go' anywhere, except up in vibratory level. We're already there spatially. In the Mind of our Creator Source.
I say 'Creator Source' rather than 'Creator' because the latter may make it soundalike an individual, with or without personal identity or combination. My sense of our Creator Source is of a disembodied Intelligence, beyond the limitation of form. Pure Intelligence. To which all of our essential Selves, individually and collectively, belong, are fractals of. Bt then, that's just conjecture. At this necessarily limited point in time.
All of which is by way of saying, in effect - to myself - I realize: I want out of here. Out of this prison. I don't feel at home here. This 'realm' is vibrating at a lower rate than I want to experience any longer. Or am used to.
Enough. Back to
Our Mind Which Art Beyond Form.
Hear my prayer.
Forgive these, parts of Thee Who have forgotten their origins, and succumbed to the lure of the set. (And read also: Set.)
And beam me the hell up out of here. This is becoming some dangerous place, to try to redeem. If they want to continue to play their silly games, let them. It's their bed, for them to lie in. They made it. End of story.
And very close now to that being a literal statement.
And not in a good way.
And thus, the bulk of these, pieces of the continent, parts of the main, needing to be seasoned in another go 'round.
But as for me:
I've had enough.
I have the urge to fly.
And so be it. Because
I have heard the woodchopper chopping wood before I have seen the apparition. And nothing will be the same, ever again. For me.
And hopefully, for you, too. Because you are a part of me. And vice versa.
And I don't want to lose you, behind.
Fly with me.
To a new level, for all of humanity.
At least those parts of us who choose to.
* His report was of a young man, many years ago, now, in the UK who was idly looking out the window of a countryside manor one fine day, watching a worker chopping wood, when suddenly he realized that he was hearing the sound of the chopping before he was seeing the motion. That can't be right, he thought: that isn't the way 'it works'. But sure enough: that was the way it was 'working' for him at that moment in time. Which led him to question everything about the reality of the experienced world, and ultimately - understanding; really getting that Life as we know it is a stage, a construct, on which we enact out a Play that we have had a hand in creating - to be able to fly, as witnessed by more than one observer in succeeding years.
At least it makes for an interesting story. And addition to my premise, herein.