Living Our Potential for Universal Love.

Living Our Potential for Universal Love

The stories we tell ourself create our reality. This is mine.

I believe in the potential for universal love. I grieve for the lost paradise which I see in potential, and in reality being destroyed.

The evolution of consciousness from all potential into the thousand things, which slowly learn to cooperate and see themselves as in fact one, continues. The stars see themselves in us through our eyes. All the animals and plants know this wordlessly. Humankind is the species in which consciousness becomes self conscious.

The ability to do wrong exists –  unselfconscious animals don’t “do wrong” – choice came in with humans. This is the human trajectory. We have experimented with freedom, our new experiment will be universal cooperation.

We cannot change the overall trajectory, only where we stand in the flow. Some are part of the next wave of evolution – the evolution of a cooperative intelligence; some do not contribute.

We remain  part of the problem while we see no way to be  a greater part of the solution. Our efforts are symbolic. They seem powerless. Our efforts are not useless if one believes in spirit (imagination, story), or the unity of us with  Earth. This is the story of humankind and we play our part. Ridiculous species; noble species; here we are.

I am attempting to regain and retain conscious awareness of “universal love”/“divine consciousness”,  before the individuation story set in, although it is essential to retain the knowledge of individuation or one becomes as the mental patient.

Animals, simpler human societies, and babies see  with “universal love”  i.e. limited, or no awareness of the capacity for individual action contrary to the whole environment.  Human babies discover their toes and realize the interface of the interior world with the outer world. The terrible twos are furious at their newly discovered power being denied them. Slowly they learn the consensual story and learn the interface is between I and thou – myself and the rest of the world; we moderns lose the nonverbal awareness of unity with everything.
We are all born as Buddha, as Jesus, as the enlightened one. Every baby born into whatever family  is  born with this knowledge because it is part of the anima mundi, the worldsoul.

In Paris,I saw the dinosaur bones, arranged in great ranks on table after table progressing on through mammals to us. Humans may wipe ourselves out but consciousness is us, it is polar bears, it is everything that ever exists… the new is evolving out of the chaos: choice, and freedom to invent without the desire to destroy, possess and control. This has already existed in the Australian Aborigine and no doubt other societies too; it exists in so many of us – now to universalize it.

Time is like the Eiffel tower, the dinosaurs were around for several floors, the humans are like the layer of paint on the top of the tower. Some part of their DNA is in us, some part of the evolution of consciousness. The whole exists.

Time has speeded up for us. When our culture with its short sighted ways has ended, the flow of time will return to beauty and naturalness. Eternity (outside of time) coexists with us and we access it when we are creative and loving, dancing, enjoying and striving; then we are part of beauty, eternal.

Mad mad world and here we are.

Blue Cardinal Red jay - Peace

On the death of George

 

I am in your head

On the Death of George

of course his name is that of the mother
it is so fine to be able to talk to Geo
and know that i am talking to the mother so to speak

imagining a particular being
able to be aware of my thoughts
not troubled by them
no longer the ego in the bag of skin
tuning in when it is about
Him and not worried that it is sometimes Her.

i didnt know Geo very well but i knew him for a long time
i know geo ( gaia ) all my life and only  through the focus of my life
who  i am, i can imagine saying to George, is a composite of the voices that reply to me both inside my thoughts and inside my atmosphere.

I tell Geo, now you are in both places, from your perspective as my idea of you.

and i visualise that crooked smile, mobile lines,
those twinkle packed eyes.

auauauauauaee

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Parsing aka unpacking the Poem.

of course his name is that of the mother
it is so fine to be able to talk to Geo
and know that i am talking to the mother so to speak

Geo geode geography – that particular rock we call earth, the mother. “George”, the man’s name, is also calling Earth mother – in my way of thinking. In my way of thinking Babble ( words words words) returns to Babel, Babel:  Bab = the gate, el = Life force (formerly mythically apprehended as “god” ). In Babel all words with related phonemes have a meaningful connection. Babel is the peaceful joyful paradise in my head ( where hell and torment is also found.) Humans try to comprehend the secrets of the universe and in their arrogance destroy peaceful co-existence. ( Biblical myth of Tower of  Babel falling and making many languages instead of one.)

imagining a particular being
able to be aware of my thoughts
not troubled by them
no longer the ego in the bag of skin

For me , my dead continue to exist in my head,

tuning in when it is about
Him and not worried that it is sometimes Her.

Having been embodied they have no curiosity, disgust or amazement other than mine.
My Jesus theory is that every baby born is That emanation of Life Force, and returns to Life Force, every human on the other side of death is one with what is. The suffering and the joy remain in the emotional realm which can only be experienced in material form, matter, Mater, mother, Earth and her beings. Bliss is a non active state. Angels and harps anyone? Clouds of glory in beautiful sunsets are the heavenly hosts in my book.

i didn’t know geo very well but i knew him for a long time.
i know geo ( gaia ) all my life . Only  through the focus of my life.
“Who  i am”, i can imagine saying to George, “is a composite of the voices that reply to me, both inside my thoughts and inside my atmosphere.”

I commune with my dead and with trees, leaves, patterns in the pavement, the river, people – my thoughts are inside my head; “my atmosphere” the world outside my head, is also inside my head – in my perceptions of and interaction with it.

I tell Geo, now you are in both places, from your perspective as my idea of you.

All my dead are in my head as my idea of them, I communicate with them. The world around me becomes their reply, I see smiles in the cracks of the pavement, acknowledgement in the movement of leaves in the tree. Perhaps I am thinking of how spirits are like birds – a bird flies close by me. Perhaps i am thinking of legendary witches – I see a witch made of leaves caught in the tree caterpillars’ web nest, persisting winter after winter.

and i visualise that crooked smile, mobile lines,
those twinkle packed eyes.

auauauauauaee

The physical absence of those who have dematerialised is incontrovertible. My heart grieves.

A Diversionary Tale of Two Energies in One.

Sheltered from the  winds by the particular formation of the rocks, and looking out over the vast expanse of woods and water below his high ledge, he pulled the quilt around him and once more closed his eyes for the vision quest.

The air smelled terrible, it stunk.  He could barely breathe. He was walking a paved pathway and beside it a road with frequent cars was evidently the source of much of the pollution.  Turning to the river,  he was grieved at how few birds scratched in the muddy sand flats revealed by the tide.  Scattered trees spoke to him of poison in the soil, regularly applied and creating choking sensations at their roots. The great oak  was failing, losing minor branches, and with thinning leaves. People passed, walking briskly and without interaction.

He shuddered and the nightmare scenario changed..

Holding the  garment of flowing fabric up from the sandals on her feet, she ran from the flames. The great Library was burning. She must get to the temple. Many acolytes had left already and taken their sacred texts to the caves, but some had stayed to keep a normal appearance. It had been clear for some time that the barbarians were unstoppable, but burning the library, the great library with the treasury of the world’s knowledge was going to put an end to the era of co-operation, to  sharing  women’s wisdom, the Eleusynian mysteries, with the males, as they were beginning to share the ways of power with their women. She prayed her man would be safe; hopefully they would find each other together again when the destruction and madness had run its course.

Terrible scenes of violence and brutalisation  caused agony and the scenario changed again.. A moment in the decline of the Roman Empire – something wrong with the drinking water, too much investment in foreign wars bankrupting the local economy, terrible inequalities of wealth,,,, a moment in the decline of the British Empire … the end of the Indian Raj… the coming of the conquerors to America, to New Zealand,  to the islands, again and again and again he found himself living in a time of destruction and grief… old ways destroyed, old knowings lost, connection with stars and a living planet, a living ecosystem, a web of being, torn and destroyed over and over and over.

The vision changed.  He became a scientist in age after age, new discoveries bringing changes for good and for bad, people staying alive longer, others dying of impoverishment, greed flourishing and exploitation of the poor going hand in hand. Slowly the consciousness of the living planet was eradicated.  But then the scientists began to rediscover that which had been known in a different way before. They rediscovered the connection of all things with each other. At the same time as this knowledge emerged,  huge destruction took place.  The vision became clearer.  These lives were part of the emergence.

Choking on an air impossibly charged with oxygen, the cells devised a way to use the oxygen and create carbon dioxide. Because there was so much oxygen, the new oxygen using cells flourished.  After some time, simple division became complex – and functions specialized. Joyfully, the cells became flowers, making the process more beautiful, they learned to bring their insect selves  to assist in pollinating the flowering….. they became animal life in the sea and some of that life adapted to living in the air… the cells delighted in their own profusion. But once again destruction occurred, a part of the greater whole which they were, destroyed Life in its process in a fiery crash and a long dark night… and once again the cells which recognised themselves as Life  ( and he on the cliff observed himself as all this) created anew, building on what was left, what could survive did survive. A new era, quite unpredictable before it happened – emerged. Life became new mammalian forms and Love – the primary impetus emerged more clearly.

Mind considers Word.  Human thought plus stars (con sidera) = Logos (“god”). In Japanese the word order would be ‘Mind word considers’. ‘I see dog’ becomes ‘I dog see’. There is a mutual relationship , not subject object separation as in English language. Mind + logos consider each other.  lIfe, evolved into lOve. Separation is the necessary human evil, in which we became other than animals who do not use words. I in life evolving into o in Love.  The new stage building on and including the former.  Io  – Ground of Being,  goddess of Maori mythology.  Life , Love. Evol, efil( evil – missing the mark , the illusion and actuality of separation) . In the time before the tower of Babel all languages were one, the phonemes having many references. The tower of Babble is human kind’s arguing with words over the word. Bab el ( the gate bab, of god , elohim ( male and female) , became babble because the mystery cannot be told, only felt, as conscious wombmanity feels it. Jewish mystics know the intense layers of meaning in every letter, every phoneme, every word. Words become a silent bliss of  almost incommunicable, only experienceable delight.

The consciousness on the ledge knew itself to be itself throughout time. Some parts of itself delighting in exploration and discovery, some parts of itself deeply grieved at destruction and extinction. The only thing to do was to be aware and to appreciate that destruction and discovery go together, that the glass ceiling is a paper tiger, a tiger nonetheless whose power derives from consensual insanity.  To be mad in a time of madness is to be sane outside of  time. I AM Logos. I, Word, love and live.

The World is my Sermon

The World is my Sermon.

Sandra knew she was “wierd”. She stood between the two trunks of one ascending oak tree and looked up into the spiraling branches becoming smaller and smaller and closer and closer to “heaven”; five fingers on one hand spreadeagled on  the bark of the trunk in front of her, the other hand resting on the trunk behind her.
i am tree consciousness, i am human,  all humans dead and in my head can see their five fingers splayed before their eyes seeing through mine; we are “god’s” five finger exercise; we live forever in the present awareness. We get this awareness when we are in this body; or disembodied, through the awareness of the living who are aware; or when our divine consciousness is embodied anew.
She took the comfort offered by this rational story of irrational ie spirit based awareness. The Consolations of Philosophy , she had never forgotten the title of the ancient manuscript by Boethius. The title alone was sufficient – reading it was more than enough.
Walking on, her arms rising and falling and creating shadows on the path, she recalled Mitch whose arms reached up to “heaven”, lifting his torso slightly, an expression of delight on his face as he exhaled for the very last time. You can enjoy this lovely day with me, Mitch, I’m so glad to have you here in my head.
“If thine eye be not single, pluck it out.’  the words came unbidden. What can that mean? Does it mean to see through the third eye?  that seems to be a rational description of an “irrational” ie immeasurable, or spirit experience. Does it mean I am one with all human thought when I think thoughts all humans could have thought, or see things all humans have seen, or feel emotions all humans feel? And as for being cast into the fires of hell if mine eye be not single – this world is hell, oh hell, for so many. Aleppo dies, people starve, there is no work for the poor who resort to stealing, so often they are non white. Oh hateful skin color that is associated with greed and wealth and defines others by its insistence on its purity. Dang there is a non singleness right there. The focus on duality, the privileging of one pole of a duality  – white over “black” , male over female, rich over poor, work over play, human over every other life form, oh yes we assuredly have created a hell here on earth.
The ecstasy she had felt earlier, evaporated in waves of helpless sorrow, her steps veered off the path into the trees. Adjusting her spine into the comfort of the trunk where it exactly supported her, and letting her hands move like spiders into a comfortable hold on the bark, she looked up into the branches.  Tears rolled down her face, her  heart hurt heavy in her chest. The tree communed,
A crooked smile began to play on Sandra’s lips. That word “without” :  a green hill without a city wall?  outside the city wall or lacking a city wall?  Without her ? outside of her or when she no longer existed?  The greater unity that lay behind all language was her bliss.

Yoga Class

The room had a  dark wooden floor, there was a Christmas cactus on the table in one corner of the room and a small round couch covered in leopard print in the other corner. Books loaded the shelves to either side of the fireplace which was concealed by art materials and two framed pictures – one hanging from the mantlepiece and one on the floor below it.  Across from the fireplace, a studio table filled a large portion of the room beyond a wide opening which could have had sliding doors but didn’t. In the other half of the twenties bungalow living room, through an arch that divided the two 15” spaces as is the style of these houses, some more built in bookshelves and drawers  lined the walls, and beside the round table with the Christmas Cactus, another doorway opened into a kitchen and beyond the kitchen to another small space with double doors leading to a deck and a garden. A breeze came in from the open front door and fans swirled overhead from the thirteen foot ceilings.

Savanah, a full bodied red head with curls like Annie Oakley, came in, laid her mat down in her usual place, and settled herself upon it. Marissa, slender with straight, short, full grey hair carefully took her position on her mat; the teacher having finished setting the tone of the ambient music, settled quietly into her space.

‘Sit straight and  feel the space between your vertebrae…… “ the teacher breathed audible ujayii breath, reminding the students to focus their breath awareness in the body.
“Lift your ribcage off your lungs”; this reminder made Savanah think of Indian sunworshippers pinning the skin of their chest to ropes leading up towards the heavens. It was a connection of physical to cosmic.
“Angel wings, scapulae, sink down towards the central spine, loosening the shoulders…”
“Be aware of energy flows up and down your spine, connecting earth to sky, sky to earth through you, the rainbow bridge.”

“I universe am.”
As they breathed, bringing their consciousness home to the moment and the body, Savanah recalled the interesting linguistic information the teacher had shared: in Japanese “I see the dog”,  is rendered, “I  dog seeing.” In English there is a separation of subject and an objectification of the subject’s experience. In Japanese the reciprocal and transactional nature of experience is expressed as mutual process, rather than agent and that acted upon. Dog and I are both seeing and seen.

As they stretched and moved, Savanah tried out this new way of seeing the world –
“I leg stretching” she thought to herself and felt a connection to the life in her body as herself, in a way that was new. It could be called coming home, she thought.

“I universe am”, she thought as they held the forward bend. “I universe am trump and dying children, babies being born, all people in this moment now. I am aware that I universe am.” She remembered that she was supposed to be being aware of her muscles and finding the edge – the boundary of comfort and discomfort. “ I forward bend am” , she thought, and smiled to herself feeling the process that had been experienced by so many bodies just like hers and not just like hers. Not only the same but also different.  Not only … but also…that was another verbiage the teacher had shared, and it was so helpful for resolving conflicts of the mind.

Paradox. Contradictory perceptions CAN co-exist, but only one can be observed at a time by any one observer.

“Savanah?” , Marissa’s voice broke her reverie. “Oh gosh” , Savanah thought, “ i have to try to observe my thoughts without getting swept away by them”. The teacher had moved on to the counter stretch, Savanah had completely missed the instruction.

It was a physical and intellectual pleasure to attend yoga class  with a teacher whose mind so answered the questions Savanah had hardly even formulated.
The Christmas cactus flowers glowed warmly in the soft light. Savanah breathed, stretched and flowed. Yoga class was good.

Billy

The bathwater is hot and shallow. The air is cold. her little butt and feet are warm in the water and steam arises around her. She can just see over the edge of the tub. She is alone. There are some towel rails and clothes hooks on the  cream wooden walls of the large and fairly empty bathroom at her grandparent’s farm and there is a toilet in the corner.

This delicious sensation of time alone, timeless time,  has stayed with her.
As third child of three under three, taking her time was not a usual experience.

Billy doesn’t want to HAVE to do ANYTHING.  Her whole life seems to have been mostly having to do things. Her friend cried the other day that her whole life seemed to be earning money at a horrible job to pay for her house. “i’m working for my house!” she wailed.

Billy had cleaned house for a 98 year old woman who was crotchety and irritable. This elder was determined not to be told what to do, and got  positively ratty when contradicted. This was to be avoided with much backtracking and apology and agreement that the elder was completely in charge of everything. The elder felt that her whole life had been working for others; in her retirement she had determined she would do ONLY what she wanted to do.

In the Cypress Swamp.

The tall Cypress trees arose above their buttressed trunks with knots from lost branches or dead remnants projecting like alien limbs, at the lower levels, and lightly leaved branches way up high. It was coming on winter and the Cypress were losing their leaves.  Shallow water the color of burnt umber flowed in a winding bed between the Cypress mounds and many many Cypress knees projected  everywhere around the base of the trees. The Cypress knees looked like people or bodies or hands – they had great personality and attitude. It seemed to Billy that they were spirits, that maybe we become a Cypress knee when we die, and get to express in wooden effigy our favorite moment of being human.  Billy thought of this and looked for a knee that might represent her. “But I want to be the TREE”, she realised.

She was not a performer because she had not believed in herself as such.
She was not a writer because she had not disciplined herself to write, in an organized manner.

She liked the expressions – an “artist manque”, or an “artist faute de mieux.” That was what she had become, an artist missing something, or an artist for lack of a better choice.   Choice – that was indeed her issue. She knew what she didn’t want – more of the same.  It was very hard to see what she did want, and a long long struggle to get it.

She called her life a quality drift. It was certainly  a fine looking life in many respects from the outside, but it certainly was a drift, adrift. It was past time for Billy to wake up.

And the best thing that is helping with this is a timer. A yellow plastic timer from the 60’s, with a white flowershaped face and black numbers, a black turn handle and a self winding mechanism that busily ticks off the hour or minutes before ringing loudly. Billy uses it to help her focus and get things done – an hour of this and an hour of that. She is prioritising those things she always wanted to do but never felt there was enough time to do.  She is waking up.

writings; philosophical meanderings