You ask about the significance of this day: a download

Let your own authenticity guide you in all things: to speak, to act, to remain private, to walk among the throngs without allowing yourself to be carried along, even if the flow feels like honey.

Advertisements

January 20, 2017. I sent up for guidance. This is what came: You ask about the significance of this day. The significance of any day is to offer opportunities to notice the flow, the details, and sounds and smells of what moves you, and then to spend the dreamless nights allowing the quilt to form itself to cover you with information head to toe, toe to head, each morsel filtering in to the locus of maximum usefulness.

This particular day you ask about, that day of opening, the day of change, is another kind of opportunity. These are the opportunities that lie before you:

The opportunity to notice your true feelings, your true and deepest thoughts and to find the rift between those feelings and thoughts and those you read about, hear about, ponder as stimulated by forces and sources external to your physical being.

This day is the opportunity to know who you are as authentically differentiated from all those of whose existence you are aware as “not me.” Basic studies in human awareness tell you that there is “me” and “not me.” First and foremost, with an eye to going forward, today we ask you to begin, or begin again, knowing that crucial difference.

Each person on this earth is given a uniqueness. The philosophy that your society, aiming for a democracy of apparent, or at least publicly acknowledged, equals, has promoted in its progress, that similarities are more important than differences, has promoted the blind eye toward the belief and hope that focusing on and promoting similarities would lead to the greatest service for the greatest good.

So today, if you have not yet begun, begin to see where “me” stops and “not me” begins, not to vilify or separate the “not me” from the intentional extension of dignity and generosity that flow outwards from your core as you spread yourselves with goodness through your day, but to know that you, yourself, have your own authentic thoughts and feelings.

Let your own authenticity guide you in all things: to speak, to act, to remain private, to walk among the throngs without allowing yourself to be carried along, even if the flow feels like honey.

This day is the opportunity to notice what you fear and stop at the moment you feel the fear. Stop and say to yourself, “I was just feeling fear. I notice the feeling of fear within me. What else is within me at this moment?” And go somewhere, internally and externally, where you can separate yourself from what you fear, even if it is the feeling with no form. There is within you a being whose nature cannot feel fear because this being within you is fully informed by and resonates with the harmony of creation. Allow this being, this part of you, to be all of who you are for this moment, as a mist surrounds and enters. Allow who you think you are to dissolve, cross fade, and be the symphony of harmony with all creation. At this point there is no fear in you. See now what words and what actions call to you.

This day is the opportunity to watch as a watcher watches, tuning your mind as a lens to see the finest details of the scene around you. You are here to adjust yourself to the road ahead so that you can find the path your authentic self can and must take. It may not be the path you find encouraging, challenging enough for you to feel that you are living up to your potential as a hero or heroine for the good, lit well enough to see your next step, or even visible. But you do know the step you must take next, and that step can only be taken in the direction and on the path that your strongest understanding of who you really are knows you must follow.

This day is the opportunity to join hands and link arms with every other human being on this planet, saying to self and other, “I am in this circle to keep the winds of war, hunger, cruelty, disenfranchisement, and all inclination toward greed and the despoliation of the earth at bay. Within this circle we hold safety. In the middle of this circle are our children, green shoots who will echo our intentions, not our actions, and who will grow with the love and vigor they can find flowing from us without our will, but as our nature.”

This day is the exposure to clarity.

I asked, What is your guidance?

I received: You know in your heart the guidance from this channel, the flowing of light overflowing. The wrapping around of sparks in their random flight up and away from the flow to catch at every gossamer thread not woven sturdily into the fabric. This is the light of day, the light that does not bend away from dissonance but penetrates everywhere. The yang sunlight rendering the yin moonlight invisible.

Rise above as far as you can to breathe as deeply as you can, for this day calls you to fill your lungs with power. You who see yourself as striding forth into the good to use your hands like cosmic paddles to move the flow of good towards all that happens, your shoulders and your arms need to be strong to move that flow from its pattern of tides.

Let song be your vehicle, song which rises beyond any person’s ability to stop its rise. Let beautiful music rise and know that it expands and falls to earth as blessing. This is for your congregation, the bed, the flower bed where you find such sweet softness and spongy reception. The energy that rises from the light of peace in song has healing power beyond what most people would credit. Let song arise.

I asked, Who are you?
We are your brothers, the brothers of light, the flowing light at whose vanguard upraised instruments of flashing, sparking light pierce the dense, the murk, the sad, sour hesitation of resistance to light. In our center is the vortex of constant creation, the nuclear brilliance of birthing the new whose nature is that which has never been before. Our voice is the sound of crackling lightning. Do not ask to hear us sing. Our eyes hold the future, visioned by the upward pull of that we carry at our center. When we stop, if we were to stop, the black hole would consume all.

What else?
(I see Michael coming forward in his blue and white flowing mantle of moving light.)  “Oh, beloved,” he says and embraces me, “Come here, sit on my knee. Now is your time. Come here with me in this copse of clouds and knit the blessing you know in me to every moment.”

He is smiling and happy. He says, “This is the time when the good prevails. This is the time when the fire ants get to have their day and will gnaw and gnaw and consume and then will realize that there is nothing left for them, because they do not create. All they can do is consume. But we know what they do not.”

And now I, seated on the knee of the archangel, see what he is showing me: There is a huge area of brown earth, parched, dry, nothing is there but the huge mass of previously active ants (and I offer an inner apology to ants for using them in this metaphor as implements and symbols of wasting agents). At the edge of this parched brownness, all around the circumference, is a throng of celebration like nothing I have ever seen. Millions of people are gathered, singing, laughing, dressed in bright colors, all green-wreathed, smiling, all well-fed, with plump, shining skin, holding happy babies and baskets of ripe fruits and vegetables and flowers, bright, beribboned humanity, flowing forward into and over the parched land. The fire ants wither, for all they can do is consume what others have planted, the throng of good, the blue and white and green celebration of humanity, surges forward with joyful, vigorous health, invigorating, filling and taking root.

So be it and may that day come soon.

Gates: another voice

First of all, I must comment, lest anyone think that I live under a rock, that I do know there is a disturbance in the force. A volcanic rumbling. I’ll get to this in a few paragraphs. And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

This is the fourth in a series of posts which I began a few months ago, initially to share the roughly 40 years of uplifting downloads I have been receiving from the expanded part of my multidimensional array that I call the Divine. As I looked at the accumulated pages documenting these flows, I realized that I wanted to present them to be both truthful and helpful. Helpful, I wondered … helpful to whom?

It was important to me to provide for others opening to their expanded awareness what had not been provided to me: reassurance and confidence. When I began receiving the first spurts, sometimes stories, sometimes phrases repeated over and over – waking dreams demanding attention in the middle of the day – I thought I might be going crazy. So I’ve shared a number of them in this blog, along with descriptions of how it felt to have words pouring into the top, side, or front of my head and my sense of the instructions I was receiving. It felt as if someone had turned on a faucet and my mind was being flooded with content I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t scary once I no longer feared insanity, but was uniquely odd.

Here’s a typical entry from 1974, not one of the earliest, but a good example: “fifty million times a day I knock on the door of her consciousness and fifty million times a day she covers me up with her goodness and her joy of life, but I get in there sometimes in moments of weakness, in moments of expectation, of depression and insecurity, of frustration, and she feels my helplessness and goes crazy a little. She can’t deal with me, she feels it’s not her, that it’s someone else and she writes about me in the third person. It’s all in facets, in all in the same mold but another side, it’s all there in one soul.” And it goes on.

This particular excerpt from my journal was part of a course in intuitive training in which I was learning how to identify and integrate three main aspects of my consciousness: my intuitive self, my rational self, and my connection to the divine. This course both grounded, reassured and lifted me. I learned that the voices I felt and sometimes heard in my head were part of the natural order of an active mind  alert to the vastness of what I could  mine through the imagination. I learned techniques to encourage and moderate communication between my intuitive self and my rational mind through sensory and mental processes, and to free and revel in my connection to the divine. I learned a short prayer with which to send up for guidance. After the ask, and after the flow of the response, I learned to say, “The action has stopped. The flow has ended. May the rain of blessings fall.” And then my mind would be still.

By the late 70’s, my inner chaos subsided and  I was ready for the next steps that I’ve chronicled earlier in this series.

And so – back to the present – I was intrigued the other day to feel in my mind the long-absent persona of third person commentator, this time appearing as a world-weary, cynical woman in her  40’s or 50’s, standing in a doorway, weight on her left hip, leaning a bit on the doorjamb.

“Well, it’s certainly all helter-skelter, with no rhyme or reason,” she comments wryly in my outlying mind. I immediately know she is referring to the growing panic among the American, and even global, populace appalled that Donald Trump will soon take the oath as President. Post-election disbelief has bloomed into pre-inaugural horror. So I wonder at the “no rhyme or reason”. The helter-skelter panic makes a lot of sense to me. But I can’t ignore her completely. She is part of my authentic array, though certainly not the home into which I rise at my best.

She sits far above all Terran tumult and reminds me of the Olympian gods, unmoved by human consternation. She does not vote, because she lives in all time and all space, where nothing is elective and every moment is a pure, instantaneous reflection of consciousness. She’s heard the din but not been concerned enough to turn from her left side to her right. (Yes, the visual image I receive as part of this communication changes so that now, instead of standing nonchalantly in the doorway, she’s an odalisque on a couch.) Now she lifts her head and angles it over her right shoulder. She’s seen this before.

She doesn’t say these words, but I know that what’s she’s thinking is, “And that’s what we have here, in this spec of what we call time: a spreading fury, a bad itch over the skin that holds us all together.” She can see the multitudes gathering at the gates – some are on fire, figuratively speaking, outraged at what they know is the immanent fouling of the White House and the nation. They are burning to stop what they see as an encroachment, a shanda, a hideous travesty of the electoral process, this most unmodulated purge of inconsistencies spilling over to feed a foaming mob careless of shredding the veneer we called America.

She cocks one mild eyebrow, the verbal equivalent of which is “Why is anyone surprised?” The foolish luxury of self-delusion, I think, the soft blanket we under its comfort have pulled up over variously jutting, quivering, chilly chins since – when? How far do we have to go back to see the beginning of complacency? To Adam, who takes Eve’s apple, no questions asked?

My response to this voice carries me further into the choppy water through which we now must navigate, sails tattered and winds blowing in patterns we have not anticipated into territory where dragons surely lie.

And elections, I continue to muse,  were they ever properly impartial, anywhere? The foaming mob has always been with us and has included my ancestors and probably yours in one revolution or another.

Other ones, the ones like me, the ones not rushing into the streets either literally or figuratively, we’re making small movements. Anger doesn’t fuel me, it stops me, makes molasses of my blood. I’m giving even less attention than is my norm – never much – to the news. What can I do. Note the lack of question mark: the inner inflection is not interrogative. It’s a quiet mumble.  I want to take walks, play with art, let these words out. Friends used to grazing daily on all the news they can find are having heartburn, furious and confused all at once at their inability to digest all this fire.

Yes, of course, I am writing letters, making phone calls, making sure that if numbers are being counted, my scratch will be there just in case it might make a difference. Most of all I am honoring the clear instruction I have from my balanced cohesion to take care of myself, to act only in and stepping forth from my deepest truth.

Find the singing self, the poems ebbing and flowing whether written or not. Sleep in the sunshine.

And I see again for the second time an unpainted painting in my head called Heaven’s Gate. Or Heavens’ Gate. A canvas — two canvases, each a theology differentiated from the other by an apostrophic placement, filled with pastel suggestions and wispy birdswing arcs, the kind of paintbrush sighs so lovely for my hand to make and my hearteyes to see.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

And then the inner observer withdraws.

I am still in a pre-inaugural-shock reverie, still part of the dynamic of this intuitive activity that is part download, part inner exploration, part navel-lint examination, to be sure. In the inner scene, I find myself at the well, the quiet well, the deep well.. Those who have come here say nothing. We move slowly, taking ordered turns to draw up what we need. We watch the surging frenzy and look into our cup. We take a sip. A friend has saved a place for me in this march, and though others are rushing, it’s OK if I walk slowly, not carrying, but being my own sign.

And now my mind is still.

I’ve spoken before of experiencing the levels of awareness as a castle, the rooms of which offer a variety of voices I hear with my inner ear and images I see with my inner eye. I’ve found that when I am unafraid to enter as many rooms as possible, both my equanimity and the flow of intuitive gifts increase, enriching my life beyond anything I ever imagined.

I want to take this opportunity to thank my friends and writing buddies, Ayin Weaver and Terri Moon, for the support and clarity each has brought to our sessions and my writing of this blog. And especially to Reb Irwin Keller, who encouraged me to blog the downloads I have showed him as spiritual leader of my congregation, Ner Shalom, in Cotati, California.