Soulfinding

A moment of lucidity

Who could have foreseen this? A million thoughts in a solitary second. Countless rushing images overlapping, fading, being replaced, but leaving - each of them - an indelible imprint on the mind of this one man. Where are those sages, the Masters we believed? The spirits who etched their visions into history? Are they projecting these flashes of insight into the sagging canvass of my mind from their obscurity? Silent revelations that sadly I cannot distinguish or comprehend.

Voyeur or voyant, the boundaries overlap and I feel both integrated into their precise scheme and, at the same time, alien, behind my curtain of blindness. What logic or mysticism can unpeel these secrets, one from the face of another, and clear the murky focus? Is there sanity in any theology or merely food for overfed intellectuals?

From this fountain of conversations, all muted yet adequately graphic, I feel the tug of a common thread. It's pulling at the life source within me, but its ambiguity makes me hesitate. Its faceless anonymity brings me to fear the chasm it lures me into. But this thread is consistent: wall-to-wall synchronicity that laughs in the destiny's face. Could I find the courage or stupidity to place my confidence in its manipulation? And, if so, to what end?

I reassure myself with the thought that momentum has certainly been building over the passage of time, my time. Either prophetic insight or creeping madness convinces me of its substantiality. It is not nothing. It is as loud as the sound I cannot hear and as bright as the light I cannot see. But its claims to reality are significant. Notwithstanding an inevitable subjectivity, I cannot prevent myself from allowing for the possibility that I am not alone in this seeping, splashing awakening.

This, in my humblest opinion, is very much a universal phenomenon. What scares me the most is the cold-faced clinicism towards which I have approached this. My intake of narcotic substances is practically nonexistent, though I feel as if I may as well be artificially consciously altered for all the visions and intuitions. Being as sober as a lump of granite, I progress as hybrid entities throw themselves at my feet. If I were to partake of any opiate, they would raise their translucent heads and speak to me. It is perhaps for this very reason that I limit chemical stimulation of an external source.

Who has the hindsight to draw conclusions on the inevitability of this conundrum? Perhaps our distant siblings are calling back to us through time to awaken us at appropriate moments? Perhaps we choose to turn a deaf ear consciously for fear or preoccupation or maybe we have created so much white noise around our soul that we simply can't hear them. I'm not convinced. These revelations that multiply our quotient logarithmically , generation to its dear next, are to me, merely a healthy symptom of the lifting of the veil that had been so securely placed over us for centuries.

The first snag in the seam lead to the unthreading and dispersion of that marvellous fear-driven, guilt-ridden tapestry our forefathers smothered us with in their miserly, anal protocol and that kept us blind and ignorant to their usury. Our dear and beautiful religions spat blood at the Christs that had succeeded in breaking one hand through the veil. They smothered the messages of these prophets with rules and, according to them, spoke God's will verbatim. Of course no deity had much to do with the religions these men created. The "founders" used the name of God as a mystical front for the power and control they could reinstall in their respective territories. Now, they are so transparent even the most ignorant and naive are staring through their politics.

So, if no longer from conditioning and culture, where does this germ find its origin? Following the river of thoughts and sentiments back to its source, where are we as we look around? I don't think we know because it's the first time that we've been here, consciously. It is most certainly a source, of some description, but all five physical senses are not picking up the same sensory messages. The spine senses it. Globes of magnetic energy spin in unison in our thorax. Light splits our forehead in two, separating the polarities of our brain and sparking off synapses in a most unprecedented way. We are somewhere. We recognise it yet we have no memories to support this notion.

Spend too long here and you come away altered. This spatial plane soaks itself into every nucleus and fibre in your body. Your periphery and central nervous systems become sensitive to its vibrations and wavelengths and your consciousness becomes irreversibly altered. There is no turning back and here lies the beautiful curse of enlightenment. You are no longer contented by the meaningless and no longer stimulated by that which lacks energy. A hunger develops that can only be satiated by ingestion and absorption of this source. Many mystics and shamen have been glorified and crucified for attempting to explain it. There efforts were not entirely in vain as they opened the cover to a book previously sealed through fear. The first page was the entirety of their lives and though history may forget them, they are never forgotten.

Alcohol and various other depressants can transiently repress the effects of initiation but their cloak falls and light burns the retina once again. Regressive evolution is perhaps possible, but pointless. Frontal lobotomies would safely put the pineal gland out of action. But let's be neither presumptuous nor self-defeating. I don't like easy answers.

What do you want to know? Could you continue the life you lead today in all its facets and habitudes from the moment you knew it? Remembering that we only see what we want to see (what we are used to expecting) and have trained and effective selective memories, we put ourselves in a precarious position. I don't see the things that I'm blocking, thought I know they are there. It's probably because in seeing them I would be forced to reassess my comprehension of reality and too many unanswerable questions would drive me to dementia. Or so I am lead to believe.

Imagine the common scenario: - I selectively sift and sort through my past experiences, visions, feelings and thoughts and store what fits into the map I have been helped to create. I discard what I cannot fathom and head into the future regardless. This lays the foundation for palatable foregone conclusions and any future event appears manageable from this position using these criteria. - In fact, what I have just written here is the antithesis of my reality.

On closer inspection, I have selectively forgotten the majority of the fathomable, mundane eventualities and swept them away into dissolution. What remains today are all the unanswered and/or unanswerable questions and the things I didn't see. What I missed or couldn't understand is the foundation of presumption-less life at present. I have very few foregone conclusions or logical assumptions about either the present or the future. Excepting of course, the mundane and blatantly obvious cause-and-effect events of human life on its primitive 21st Century level. I can't help but speculate on that which is just within my grasp. But, the stimulation, spiritually, is far less progressive in these areas - they are almost too attainable.

I prefer tampering with the circuits that woke me up while I was still tired. The neural interactions that called me before I knew they even existed. The images and all of that universe that threw the lights on as if to blind me to what I already knew. I am only trying to answer a question that was put to me.

If my train of thought is predictable and easy to analyse, I am happy. For I have no wish to either confuse or mislead. If my ability to express this reality is weak it is only through my lack of practice in its expression. Putting words (the bottom of the spiritual food chain, but our food nevertheless) to thoughts that are themselves born from inspiration (and subject to subjective interpretation) can quickly become a filtering process that loses the source information in the translation. But, as humans, with human tools, we must start somewhere. And, as I have said, I am only starting to collate the information. For the moment, I am reflecting on merely the reflection of the source of this information, mildly speculating on the reason for their arrival now (and to me) and hopefully putting down the first steps towards some day touching on what lies behind them in a way I can communicate to other people around me.

Personalised, fabricated, esoteric realities are of little use to anyone else but their creator. They lead to small-scale (or mass) hallucinogenic self-hypnosis that merits nothing more than the deserved title of egocentric cults. Schisms and protests were born in all world religions as a result of self-professed seers.

I profess to nothing. I relay my thoughts, none of which I consider religious. I place them, however watered-down and limited by the rules of syntax, on a flat sheet (or screen). I have remoulded them into this two dimensional form in an attempt to be practical and pragmatic i.e. that they may be of some use to anyone, including myself.

My visions and insights come in waves of lucidity and delirium and I try to ride the wave when it comes in the hope of learning something from it. When I manage to successfully find my balance on the crest of this wave, I hope to reach a point where I can communicate its infinite wisdom in a coherent and helpful manner. As that time approaches, and I most certainly hope it is getting closer, I sift and sort and fold and refold the glimpses I have had into thoughts and subsequently words to strike up interaction with anyone on a similar path. It is not new. It is ancient, but it's reawakening and it's coming back whether we're ready for it or not. I'm just one of those trying to get ready?

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