In the Wake of the NDAA...

The passage of this totalitarian bit of legislation in America - totally contrary to the spirit of that country, and its true, higher purposes in and for the world; and thus a sellout of that spirit - has prompted me to tell a little story. This is the story of


THE LITTLE BOY
WHO GREW UP

Once upon a time there was a little boy who asked a lot of questions of his parents - Why was the sky blue, and the grass green; why were there different looking humans; etc. etc. & etc. His parents answered his questions as best they could, but they began to grow bored of this imposition on their time, and knowledge. ‘Look it up,” he began being told by both of them. A bit gruffly, he thought; and began to ask fewer questions, and keep his own counsel; not fully understanding why they weren’t more forthcoming, seemingly didn’t like to be asked about things. Until one day, when the family gathered with the rest of the villagers to see someone identified to the little boy as the ’emperor’ - a real high human, it seemed. And the little boy looked at this man when he was paraded before them, and everybody around their family - including his parents - ooed and aahed at the emperor’s proudly announced fine new clothes; and the little boy said - speaking a little too loudly for the comfort of his parents, it appeared - “But - he has no clothes on!”

“Hush,” said his mother, in a low voice.

“What?”

“I said hush,” she repeated, sternly.

“But - “

“Your mother said ‘hush’,” said his father; even more sternly.

And, of course, that was that.

But the little boy began to pay even more attention to his surroundings, from that moment on. Because something seemed a little - wrong, to him, about his surroundings, and especially the people around him. They were behaving rather oddly, he thought. But to himself...

Until one day he could no longer contain himself, and he burst out, to his father (but carefully at the beginning; having learned that much, about life, by now): “Father...”

“Yes, son.” (He didn't say 'my son', because another funny thing about life that the little boy had begun to find out about was that his father and his mother, though 'married', and supposedly 'in love', as the grownups called it - like they were 'in love with' what they, and other grownups, called The Order - seemed to have been assigned to each other; and he had heard rumors that his father was not his real father. Whatever that meant.)

“Why are there some people with a lot of things, and many people with hardly anything at all, but there is plenty of everything in the stores?”

“Because some people have more money than other people do,” replied his father; in the tone of voice that the little boy had learned to be careful of. It meant that his father was a little impatient with him already. But he felt the need to persist with his question, and ventured out onto the thin ice he was beginning to feel surrounding him yet once again, in this curious world he found himself growing up in:

“But why?”

“Because they have worked harder than the others. And keep your voice down,” his father added, like he sometimes did, then glancing around them, and up at the street light fixtures, for some odd reason.

‘This kid will be the death of us yet,’ his father thought to himself; beginning to get very nervous, indeed.

It all came to a head the day that the little boy - just a little older than he had been when he had first started noticing curious things around him - said to his father, “Father...”

‘Uh-oh... ,’ thought his father; recognizing that tone of voice from his son; then replying, a bit tiredly, and warily: “Yes?”

“I have thought about this matter, of some people with a lot of things, and many people with hardly anything at all, although there is plenty of everything in the stores, and I have concluded what the problem is,” he concluded, a trifle triumphantly. (But then he was just a little boy.)

“What ‘problem’?” said his father.

“The problem of plenty in the midst of scarcity,” said the little boy; a bit put out that he had not been answered directly for his answer, to this matter, that the grownups seemed, for some curious reason or another, not to have figured out for themselves. (But then there were many curious things about their world; so it could have just been part of the overall pattern of ‘the way things were’ for them, he thought. For the grownups, that was. They seemed to have their heads in a rather funny place. ‘Funny’ as in peculiar. Not as in ‘ha ha’.)

“And what is that answer, Einstein,” said his father; like he did sometimes. (As in, ‘So why is the sky blue, Einstein,’ or, ‘So why is the grass green, Einstein?’ It had something to do with his growing up.)

“The answer is money.”

“What?”

“The problem is money itself. And so the answer is to get rid of money. And so the problem is solved,” replied the little boy; a little tentatively, waiting to hear how his father answered him, to see if there was something that he was missing in his deductive reasoning. But proud of himself for it. So far...

“No; the problem is you, son,” said his father, gruffly. “You just don’t understand how things work. You need to grow up.”

And so he grew up, some more. But continued to ‘keep his eyes open,’ as the adults around him often said. (Which seemed a little strange to him, considering that he felt that that was precisely what he had been doing; for example, back when he had seen that the emperor had on no clothes. And the adults around him seemed not to see that. Very strange, he had thought then. But didn’t think quite as much so anymore, after having grown up a little more, and having noticed a number of peculiar things, about these adults around him; who talked amongst themselves about ‘keeping their eyes open,’ but appeared not to be actually seeing things around them.

Apparently keeping your eyes open, and seeing things, were two different things, he reasoned. At least, when you’re an adult...

And then the day came when he was talking to his mother, and happened to mention something that he had read in a book in the back shelves of their local library; something about ‘religion’.

“You’re talking nonsense,” his mother said; and added, a little suspiciously, “Where did you get that idea from?”

Something told him not to say where he had gotten the idea from. He, instead, mumbled something about one of his friends.

“Which one?” his mother asked, sternly.

He could only think to say that he couldn’t remember, precisely; there were a number of different kids in the conversation circles after school, he said.

“You kids need to be careful,’ said his mother - without explanation - and left the matter at that.

Careful about what, he wondered; to himself. For he had begun to realize that he couldn’t go to his parents for answers to his questions. That they seemed to be afraid of something. Something so - big, that he couldn’t see it. But they could; somehow. Strangely enough; given the things that they didn‘t seem to be able to see....It was all turning out to be a very, very strange world, indeed.

So he decided to find out more about life from the only independent source that he could think of: from those old books on the dusty back shelves of the shiny new library that had been built for their village, to learn things from. Besides, of course, from all the online sources that were available to them; but he had begun to sense that there were gaps in the information available to them from that source. There seemed to be some sort of selection process, between the information that was up front for people, and what was ‘behind the scenes’, as it were - like the old books he had found out about, one day, from the kindly old white-haired Librarian Lady, who seemed to take pity on him, for all the questions he asked, and motioned for him to follow her to a sort of storage room behind the Reading Room; where he found a sort of treasure trove, and began spending time picking through the items there.

Books, and books, and books! Old books! Knowledge! Questions and answers! What a delight! he felt.

He couldn’t read some of the words, and they weren’t in The Dictionary - which discovered fact had really begun to open his mind - but he could at least get the gist of the material; and finally went to his Pedagog, who, he thought, if anybody could answer his questions, and help him with his deductive reasoning, it would be that learned man. And he spoke to the Pedagog thusly:

“I have read about something called reincarnation. - “

“You have.”

“Yes.”

“Where.”

“That’s not relevant to my question. Sir. What is important is that I have found enough information on the subject to convince me that it is true, and verifiable: that there is some part of us humans, that seems to have been called the ‘soul’, that survives beyond the death of the body - “

“Hold on. You say ‘verifiable’. How could that possibly be? We all know that there is nothing beyond our senses to sense.”

“No we don’t.”

“What!?” cried the venerable Pedagog.

The boy sensed that he was flirting with difficulty, if not danger. But he didn’t care anymore. Enough was enough.

“There are all manner of things beyond our senses,” he insisted.

“Nonsense.”

No. Just non-sense.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My mother has used that word as well, and I decided to look it up. One of the definitions of ‘sense’ is ‘the ability to perceive’. We have been limited by our senses. That’s all.”

And the young man then started telling his Pedagog - his Pedagog! He who should know! - about all that he had found out, in the back room of their little out-of-the-way village’s library; and then brought the conversation back to the main point he wished this learned man - his school’s assigned learned man - to address:

“So, given all the evidence that there is - that there used to be, anyway. I mean, still is; just not available,” he said, in a bit of an accusatory way; evidencing his displeasure over his own Pedagog not letting him know about such things in their past on the planet “ - about something, some aspect of consciousness, surviving the death of the body, and coming back to the earthly plane of existence, time after time, in body after body - now a prince, now a pauper; now a male, now a female; now of one race or region, now another - what does that tell you?” he asked, in a rather demanding way; obviously upset by the process that he had entered into. The process of uncovering truths, denied him, and them: the people of planet Earth.

“...What does it tell you,” replied his Pedagog; seemingly beginning to defer to the young man’s sense of outrage. Perhaps from some residual part of his being, as a man having been attracted to the subject field of education - of educare; of the drawing forth from individuals, of their best, their highest potential. To take pride in being able to do just that.

“It tells me that ‘we’ are one another. That we are just players in a play - of our making. It’s called, in the old books, 'karma'. That we come back, lifetime after lifetime, working out our karma with each other. Until we ‘get it right’. Reach a point of equilibrium. At which point, we can move on.”

“Move on...to what; precisely.”

“I don’t know ‘what, precisely’. You’re supposed to be able to tell me that. You’re the Pedagog!” the now-young-man said, angrily. “But I can make a deduction, from all the evidence.”

‘And what is that ‘deduction’.”

“That, since we in incarnation are just playing parts, and are, then, one another, as the players in a drama - playing now one part, now another - that in actuality, we are One. Just, now, aspects of one Being. That I see in my reading used to be what they called God.”

And the boy’s Pedagog then felt compelled to tell the boy the truth, about his nature, and theirs; talked about The Hologram, and ‘interference patterns’, and all the rest about their condition. Including how some of them - like himself - had ‘sold out’. In order to ‘go along to get along’, realizing the all-pervasive power of surveillance that had been developed on the planet, to keep all the incarnates in control But some - like himself - hoping against hope for just such a day as this, when an incarnate would cease being merely a robot, and rebel.

And so the young man’s Pedagog wished him well on the fate he had chosen for himself (rather than it having been chosen for him, by the Controllers). And because the young man was persuasive, and made his case very clear - about what life was really all about - he got a number of his friends to join him, in what ultimately became a movement, first through their region, then the rest (via a form of electronic communications that couldn’t be blocked entirely by the Controllers) - that overthrew the regime that had gained power on the planet called Earth.

And they lived happily ever after; one by one - that is, individually - returning to Source. From whence thay had come, but all (including the Whole Itself) gaining wisdom in and by the individual spark’s experience of separation from the Godhead; to varying degrees of separation.

Until they got it right. Finished with their schooling. And then moved on. To


The End


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