Be one with the world

All things recognize the oneness of the universe except man. You may think nothing of injuring a tree in your back yard in North America, yet the message of what you did is carried from your backyard across the world. So, when you travel to Sumatra, the trees there will recognize you and will either fear you or resent you, thereby making your simple stroll a harrowing trek with their need to protect themselves.

The same is true of animals and insects. Injure a cat, bird, or even an ant, and see if nature doesn’t find a way to either pay you back or keep you from doing anymore harm, somehow. They all know that they are part of something bigger. They all know that every action taken has a repercussion somewhere within the webs of energy that bind us all together. It is only man who places himself in a bubble of separateness; who closes himself off to everyone and everything else.

Instead of letting the information in, instead of allowing themselves to be one with all the universe, man chooses to live in a bubble of separation. Occasionally, cracks appear in your bubble, and information seeps through. Most of the time we choose to ignore this anomalous knowing; other times, we accept the knowledge, but find ways to explain it that still allow us to keep our image of separateness in tact.

A few of us, though, choose to lower that bubble and revel in the knowledge that comes from being no longer separate. We allow ourselves to “hear”, “see”, and “experience” all the input, all the information that comes from the universe around us—the stars, the plants, animals, insects, and other people.

Some people who welcome the oneness are looked upon as extraordinary, perhaps they have outstanding gardens where all things grow for them because they seem to know just what the plants need and when to apply it. Others become so intuitive with the animals that they become like Dr. Dolittle in their ability to understand and care for the animals. Others just seem to know or sense things about the people around them.

In each instance, it’s because they have released themselves from the restrictions of being separate. They have chosen, instead, to be one with all there is, to accept everything and everyone as they accept themselves.

It’s not magic, and it’s not make believe. There really is a part of our brains that causes us to experience the feelings of separateness in our world. It’s the spatial section of our brains. It provides each of us not only with a sense of location within a specific space and time, it also provides us with a sense of being us, a separate and unique being. However, when those with a heightened sense of intuitiveness were tested, the scientists found that instead of activating a new and different portion of their brain, what they had done was turn off their spatial functions within their brain.

They released the barriers that kept them separate from the rest of the world, and this allowed them to then open themselves up and “hear” and “know” everything that anyone and anything heard and knew. They could become like the beings in the movie Avatar, tapping into their world at a deeper level, tapping into their world and locating just the information needed to answer the questions asked of them (where is my daughter’s harp that was stolen?), or seeing the future possibilities emerge from all the probabilities, so that they can help someone make easier, less traumatic life choices. 

It’s a removing of barriers; a lowering of the bubbles of separateness that we all put around ourselves that lets us become one with our world, with our universe. It’s not a special section of the brain that needs to be activated, or triggered, but a common section which we all use that we need to turn off.

Some researchers found that simply by repeating the phrase, “I am one with the world”, helps lower that barrier that keeps you separated from everyone and everything else. So, try it…say it with me (but mean it), “I am one with the world…”; now believe that phrase. See yourself as one with the world; then let that bubble of separateness around you explode outward as you flow outward and find yourself one with the universe.

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Is it real?

I’ve gotten a number of comments regarding my postings of my planing activities suggesting that I’m either crazy or simply having very vivid dreams (since most of my planing does take place during my sleep periods). Others have asked me how I can be so positive that these activities are real and not just dreams, nightmares, or figment of my imagination—something happening simply in my mind (see It’s All in My Head).

My best response is simply, “because these incidents are much more real than this world in which I’m posting my blog.”

Think about your dreams for a moment, or can you even remember any of them. Maybe a snippet here or a fragment there, right? Dreams usually fade quickly, although sometimes it can take almost a day for some of the really vivid ones. You might be left with a few vestiges, maybe a memory of an emotion, but that, too, usually fades within a couple of days.

Dreams don’t linger for very long once you awaken, and nightmares are no different. Turn on a light, and nightmares inevitably run away, much preferring the dark recesses of your mind than the bright lights of activity.

These incidents of mine that I write about don’t fade once I awaken. They don’t scatter like rose petals from a dying bouquet. Instead, they’re more like memories, which do fade, yes, but only after weeks, months, or years, not moments or hours. And like memories, some of my experiences of planing can be retriggered by a smell, a word or phrase, or even by a color or image.

Dreams don’t do that, not even memories of dream can do that. There’s a certain musical phrase from Rhapsody in Blue that gives me a “flashback” to a jazz club and the pianist there who died while playing that tune for himself and the remaining wait staff way past closing time. There is the smell of jasmine that brings to mind the memory of a young lady murdered outside her apartment down in North Carolina.

These sounds, these smells trigger an emotional response, an emotional response that I associate with these incidents, these people and places. That’s what memories are—triggers to emotional incidents that we catalog and store. And when I’m acting as a planer, my emotional chakra is more open than when I’m functioning as a “normal” physical being. Emotions make very strong memories, stronger than anything else.

Think about it for a moment. Bring up any memory—happy or sad, good or bad—and you’ll find that the main thing you remember is the emotions of those involved. Perhaps you had an argument with your lover. You may not remember what was said, or even who started it, but what you remember is how you felt and how your lover felt, and how what they were feeling made you feel.

Maybe you remember the first time you saw an infant or a puppy. But again, what do you really remember? Do you remember exactly what the infant or puppy looked like? No, but you remember how you felt…you remember the gooey, oh-so-loving, just-wanna-cuddle-you-to-death feelings that threatened to overflow your whole being.

So, while I may not be able to bring back something tangible that I can point to and say “There, see I was really there. It really happened.” I do have memories.

I may not be able to “prove” to the skeptics that what I do is real, but when it’s their time to leave, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see me, or someone like me—even if we’re not real 😉

Time is a state of mind

clockinclockTime. Everyone uses it. Everyone uses clocks and watches to measure it. Yet, do we really understand it? Do any of us really understand why time even exists? Or why it seems so important to us?

I think Einstein came closest to explaining why it exists when he said, The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once. It means that without time we can’t see cause and effect, and without cause and effect, life (as we know it) doesn’t make sense.

What was, now is, and ever shall be (Scripture)

Time is an illusion. (Douglas Adams)

There is no present or future, only the past, happening over and over again, now. (Eugene O’Neil)

Time is a created thing. (Lao Tzu)

Time is of your own making. (Angelus Silesius)

The above 5 quotes pretty much explain what time is:  part of the illusion of reality that we each have created for ourselves. Scientists also describe it as part of our reality. They call it the fourth dimension, combining it with space to find a location for events and objects (reality, in other words).

We all have our time machines. Some take us back; they’re called memories. Some take us forward; they’re called dreams. (Jeremy Irons)

This last quote is the most profound. It points out just how much of time travel is a mental activity. It requires no machines, no complex formulas, no devices of any kind. If you want to be there during the building of the Tower of Pisa, then you merely need to extend your thoughts, your imagination, your mind to that moment and that place.

Perhaps you want to fly to the stars, experiencing life as an explorer of galaxies. Again, focus your thoughts and your dreams and go.

Life is what we create for ourselves. Our past, our future, and our nows, all exist in our heads, in our thoughts, long before they exist in any reality. What people call daydreaming or even night dreaming, is just another way of exploring other realities – realities in which we walked with Buddha, helped build the great pyramids, or sailed the galaxies.

I’m not saying that every dream is a visit to the past or future, or even a visit to an alternate now. Some dreams are exactly what they appear to be—messages from our own minds regarding the pitfalls we are creating for ourselves. But sometimes, those “dreams” are the memories of other places, other realities, other existences that we visited, that we created for ourselves while during the sleep cycle of the body we wear now.

Sometimes these realities are built in the ether of the transitional planes, but even then, it doesn’t make them any less real. Just because it all seems to be in your head, doesn’t make it any less real.

Every reality is real, because every reality is what you create for yourself. Even those we considered mentally unbalanced are creating a reality for themselves. And just because that reality is considered beyond “normal”, doesn’t make it less real, nor does it make it wrong. Every reality, no matter how bizarre, serves a purpose for the person who created it.

Time travel, like reality, is a state of mind. As long as your mind is fixed in this here and this now, then so are you. However, if you fix your mind on another time, or another time and place, then essence (the soul) will find a way to make it real for you, whether through dreams, astral visits, or through your own imagination.

Many of us use books or movies to aid us in our travels, but whether you use these aids or simply experience the reality of it on your own, it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you understand that no matter when you are, it’s always real.

 

The Power of “Too”

Have you ever noticed that the more you struggle against becoming like someone else, the more like that person you become, anyway?

For me, it’s my mother. She was (especially in her later years) a great believer in the power of “too”— “it’s too hot…”, “it’s too cold…”, “it’s too loud…”, “it’s too…”. Like Goldilocks with the home of the 3 bears, my mother never could find anything just right.

Every visit was filled with the barbs from the power of “too”. If you suggested going out to lunch, even if you let her choose the restaurant, there was still no shortage of “toos” whose shiny points were aimed at you and anyone else who crossed her path. The soup was too cold; the salad greens too limp; the meat too tough; and the veggies too overcooked. As I said, nothing was ever just right.

Now, while I can do little about the fact that I look a lot like her (she was, after all, my mother), I struggle against becoming a follower of that deity “too”. So far, I have succeeded managing to maintain a more equitable viewpoint, a less sour outlook on life. At least I thought so, until last night.

Last night we were out with friends, and as we finished placing our orders with the wait person—does anyone else find that term awkward?—we were commenting on the amenities and the show we had just been to, and there out of my mouth I heard it…those dreaded words, in that dreaded tone that my mother always used, and I stopped speaking mid-whine.

Everyone at the table stared at me puzzled, and I gave them a sickly smile and waved them on to continue the conversation. As their words filled the spaces around me, my mind whirled. I had almost done it. I had almost said, “Yes, but it’s too noisy…”, when in fact, the place wasn’t really any noisier than any other time we’d been there. Also, the evening wasn’t worth destroying by becoming a copy of my mother.

I eventually joined back in to the conversations, but I never lost my guardedness. I don’t think anyone else noticed, but I know that I kept monitoring every word out of my mouth as I made sure there were no more “toos” waiting to escape.

It’s a learned behavior, I understand that. It’s a behavior that you grow up observing and hearing so repetitively that before you know it, it’s part of you, too. But I thought I had purged all of that long ago, all of those “learned behaviors”. So, it frightened me when I found out that some part of me had still held on to at least one of those learned patterns.

It makes me wonder just how many more of those learned behavior patterns are still lurking around waiting to pop out. So, now I have to be more diligent in monitoring myself when I speak. And once again, I need to inventory my behaviors and see if I can’t rid myself of those I don’t want. I especially want to rid myself of the power of “too”, because I do not want to be a worshipper at the altar of Never Satisfied.

Stuff

About 18 months ago I saw a homeless man standing on a street corner. He was wearing several layers of clothes, a pair of galoshes and was carrying a pair of sandals. I saw him 6 months later and he had added a battered backpack to his ensemble. A couple weeks ago I saw him again, and now the overstuffed backpack was crammed into a shopping cart overflowing with odds and ends.

About 18 months ago, one of my friend’s and her spouse were complaining that the two-bedroom apartment they were in was too small. There wasn’t room for all of the stuff they had received when they married and most of it was still at her mother’s. They moved to a three-bedroom townhouse, but they still complained of not having enough space. Now, most of the stuff was down in the garage, so there was no place to put the car.

Some other friends of ours complained for months about not having enough room for their stuff. Their 2-car garage was overflowing and they hadn’t been able to park any of their cars in the garage since they had bought the place. They finally rented a storage unit, which now holds all the stuff that wouldn’t fit in the garage.

So, what is it about humans their “stuff”? Why do we need so much stuff? Even when we have no home, we hoard stuff? And when our homes are overrun, we rent places to store more stuff.

I’m at a loss. I really don’t understand. You see, in my mind, if you haven’t used something in 6 months, then maybe you really don’t need it. If you haven’t seen something in 3 or 4 months, then you probably don’t even remember that you have it.

These people don’t even use the need to pack for a move as an opportunity to eliminate some of the stuff that they haven’t seen or used in years. Instead, they simply pack it all up. But either they fail to mark the boxes with what’s in it, or maybe they just like grab bags, and so mark it Miscellaneous. So, they move it their new place, but instead of unpacking all of this stuff, they simply put it in the garage, because (after all) it’s just miscellaneous stuff. Then, not realizing that they already have something, they go out and buy it all over again.

Pretty soon, they have so many versions of the same thing that they now need a storage unit, where they can more easily forget what they have. So, now with everything miles away instead of underfoot, it becomes all right to resume buying again. After all, they now have this big empty garage to fill (again), and not with cars (why be so mundane).

I, however, dream of the day when I don’t need stuff—any stuff. Stuff ties you down (think Marley the ghost in a Christmas Carol). I would rather be free, unfettered by physical things, not tied down to the physical world by a need for or a love of physical stuff. Yet, I am human, so I do have (some) stuff. I own a home, and that home has stuff in it. However, much of what I have in my house is second-hand stuff and people’s cast offs. (You might say, I’m into recycling.;-)

But there’s nothing in that house that I’m so attached to that if it were destroyed or taken away that I would be devastated over it. Well, nothing except my husband, that is. 😉

So, why the need for stuff? Is it that it helps to define us as physical beings? Does it give us a more secure hold on our place in this physical world? Or is it that we’re all just so forgetful that we can’t remember what we have, so we have to keep buying more of it?

The book that wasn’t there…

Everyone has an Aha moment, that moment when they finally understand something. Mine came in two steps. When I was about 18 my mother gave me a book that she thought I might find interesting. It didn’t look like anything special—just a simple paperback book with a blue cover. The front had drawings of different people’s faces dressed from different time periods and a picture of a Ouija board on it.

Normally a fast reader, this book actually took me about a week to get through. It was filled with new concepts and ideas that somehow also felt familiar. It was a very interesting read, and I knew I would want to read it again. I felt the truth of the information, although I didn’t fully comprehend everything.

I set the book aside, and life went on. Meanwhile, the concepts and ideas percolated at the back of my mind. I never really consciously thought about the book until years later, when I hit an emotional crossroads. At that point, I thought that something in that book just might help me with my choices.

I searched high and low for the book, sure that I had placed it in one of the many bookcases in the house, but couldn’t find it anywhere. Unable to locate it, and not remembering if I or my mother had lent it to someone else, I went to the bookstore and got a new copy.

This time it only took a couple of days to read through it, and I had the biggest Aha moment of my life when I finished. While the first time I had read it had been like going into a dark house with a couple of lit candles that illuminated just a few of the dark rooms, this time it was as if I had found the main fuse box and so lit up the whole house. I not only understood everything the book was saying, but I recognized the truth of the concepts the next time I looked at someone’s aura.

All my life I had seen auras, and I had taught myself what the different layers were and what the colors and shapes meant. However, it always felt as is some of the pieces weren’t there, like there was some information I should be understanding but wasn’t. Now, all the pieces fell together.

As I continued to travel my life’s path, I had many occasions to give away copies of this book. Some of those I shared the book with also had Aha moments, and others didn’t. Some got the same reaction I had the first time I read it—that there’s something very true in this material, but never fully understanding all of the concepts and ideas. No matter how much, if any, of the information people got from the book, I was happy just to share it with others.

Several weeks ago, I had the chance to again share the book with several people. This time as I handed them each a copy of the book, the copyright date caught my attention. Something about it seemed off, but other things took my focus and I let it go. As the week continued, though, the date continued to niggle at my mind, and I finally went in search of my own copy of the book. I checked the copyright date, and then after several calculations I finally realized why it bothered me so. According to the copyright date, my mother gave me the book before it was published.

Convinced there had to be some mistake, I actually contacted the publishers and asked for the first release date. They quoted the same date as in my copy of the book. So, somehow, some way, in some alternate reality, I read that book, the book that awakened my mind and released my soul years before it became available in our world.

Peel back the shroud…

I think it’s about time that we brought death out of the coffin (so to speak). We need to pull back the shroud and take a good hard look at why it bothers us so much that most of us won’t even discuss it. When someone does occasionally bring up the topic, they do so in hushed voices, as if by speaking normally they may actually awaken some grim reaper from its stygian depths that will spirit them away into that frightening world of the unknown, that world into which all who are dead disappear.

What are we really so frightened of, anyway? After all, death is, in dictionary terms, the state of non-being. However, logic, common sense, science, and religion all tell us that there is no such state. They all say that although the physical form ceases to function, another part of us lives on; therefore, you can never not be.

That part of us that continues to exist is referred to by religion as the soul, the core, essence, the spirit, and the chi, and science calls it the psyche, the aura, a vibrational frequency, and a type of energy. Whatever name you give it, something of us remains once the body ceases to be. So, death is really just an altered state of being, a state in which matter ceases to function, but awareness continues.

So, while the physical presence of the person ceases to be, the true person lives on, just in a state of being that most of us refuse to recognize. (Yes, I said refuse. After all, we can choose to see beyond the boundaries of our physical world, but most of us do not because it would “ruin” the “dramas”, the “plays” we call life.) Therefore, while the person we knew and interacted with is no longer available to us, while we can no longer pick up a phone and call or text them, receive emails from them, or see their smiling face, they still exist.

But where do they exist? In what form do they exist? Why can’t we see them, hear them, interact with them?

Every culture, religion, family or tribe, has their own way of answering those questions—and sometimes even more than one answer. The Mayans believed that the underworld had nine layers and their version of heaven had 13 layers.

The Ancient Egyptians conceived of an afterlife as quite similar to normal physical existence — but with a difference. The model for this new existence was the journey of the Sun. At night the Sun descended into the Duat (the underworld). Eventually the Sun meets the body of the mummified Osiris, and Osiris and the Sun, re-energized by each other, rise to a new life for another day. For the deceased, their body and their tomb were their personal Osiris and a personal Duat. For this reason they were often addressed as “Osiris”. For this process to work, some sort of bodily preservation was required, to allow the Ba to return during the night, and to rise to a new life in the morning. However, the complete Akhu was also thought to appear as stars.

Today, the beliefs are as myriad as the stars above. Most Christians believe in some form of heaven (complete with angels, cherubs, heavenly choirs, and a long-bearded, robed man waiting at the entrance to a large golden gate) or hell (being either torridly hot or frigidly cold and containing pitch-forked laden, goat-eyed, horned and tailed half-men to provoke them).

While many who believe in Wicca, Buddhism, and other religions believe that at death the dying consciousness of the body moves to a new biological structure (usually another human body, but some believe that the consciousness can be reborn as animal) and continues their cycle of lives with little interruption. For them, an afterlife only occurs once all the levels of living have been completed.

For others, there is no afterlife at all. Life simply ends when the body dies, and that’s it. Still others believe that the afterlife is simply one-step removed from our own world, sharing the same space as our world, but not viewable (except by a few “chosen” who see and speak to spirits).

And just maybe that’s why we’re so frightened. There are so many possibilities, so many beliefs, that we don’t know what to think. We start second-guessing ourselves and wondering what’s real. Are our loved ones in heaven (or hell), or is that just a platitude that others tell us to comfort us during our bereavement? Do people really come back? Or are they just hanging around, just out of sight, waiting for us physicals to notice them (can you imagine just how crowded that would make their reality?).

So, then we start thinking that maybe we’re just fooling ourselves; maybe there really isn’t any kind of afterlife, after all. Well, considering we each create our own world, we could be “fooling” ourselves, but how would we know?

But just because we can’t get our minds around the type of world that could actually exist outside of our own, doesn’t mean that some type of afterlife doesn’t exist.

So why not talk about it. Let’s bring it out into the open. It’s not morbid, sick, frightening, or depressing. In fact, death is just another type of life waiting to be created and explored by each of us. So, rather than being frightened by the idea of death, try thinking of death as a vacation from life. (Of course, like all vacations, death also ends when you decide to take on a new life, in a new body, with a new family, and a whole new set of dramas to participate in.)