As above, so below

 

As above, so below.

 

They say it is a Chinee curse:  May you live in interesting times.

In which case, we are pretty much damned.

It is like, if you put tiny seeds in a glass of water, they float on the top until they are saturated and can’t take any more.  Then they drift down to the bottom.

Then the view changes.  From the bottom, you can see up to the top, all around,  and also see the water you are immersed in.

There is the outer world, the surface.  Emotionally turbulent, pulling and pushing us this way and that, precipitating us into this place or that, for and against, turning friends into enemies.  We long for peace, release.  Happiness and joy are found in a bottle, or in leaves, or in the senses.  For some, happiness is found in mashing others.  This world is a world of duality.  Good or bad. Yours or mine. Up or down. Brown or white.  Rich or poor.

 

Then there is the seed filled to capacity, fed up, heavy in its own fullness, dare I say sorrow, as if a seed knows it has changed and dropped out, and as if it could feel that it is now different,

But in its saturation, something in it--a germ, a kernel--is starting to awaken and expand.  When it is saturated, full up, heavy, there is no where to go but up.  Change is inevitable; it is time to grow or die.

 

For those trapped in the cyclone of duality, the soup of emotions is a bitter one.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.  We were never meant to be that way.  Our nature, in its baldest form, is spirit.  We have emotions, that is our unique gift as earth dwellers, but we are not meant to be locked into them.    There is another way of being.

The true nature of that spirit is Love.  Not transactional, or soppy unreliable romantic love, heck no.  In the core of our being, there is love.  It brings with it an infinite ability to forgive; to give; to know joy as a quiet expansive filling of light and contentment.

Why would anyone choose to swim in that bitter soup?  Insanity.

I wonder what it is that people fear to lose, that they hold on to, like clinging to a limb hanging over a cliff.  Bats.

These are turbulent times.  Some ancient spirits say it is the worst.  

Everyone has heard that there is a myth around Atlantis.  Some may even know the name Lemuria.  These words are accepted like polar ice or earthquake. Not so.  The ancients tell us, those who have ears to hear, that these were real places, were humanity’s earlier attempts at this experiment. 

If you have a curious mind, you might wonder about these myths.  To learn the truth about them, first you have to believe that you are more than your body.  See through the myth that you are no more than some meat that, when a certain essence leaves it, rots.

It amazes me, it is stunning, the kinds of fantasies that people create around that myth.  The atheists take it at face value.  Those who have been indoctrinated to any degree of religious belief have a graded sense of a ‘hereafter’.    Duality still exists there.  They might wind up in the hot (hell) or the cold (heaven).  And so forth

The truth is simpler, more beautiful, and infinitely difficult to understand.  The Bible has a simile.  ‘I am the potter, you are the clay”.  Really think on that a bit, and you have to come loose from some of your illusions.  How can a lump of clay know what hands are?  What the mind of a potter is?  What thought and intention are?

 

No, this is too scary.  “I am not a lump of clay; I have hands, I have thoughts and intentions”.  Yes, dummy, but ants have legs, too.  An ant has intentions.  Imagine you are as an ant to something in the universe that is infinitely greater than you.

And that being doesn’t have legs.  It doesn’t need legs.  Imagine that.

And so we have been here before.  Yes, even We.  It is not impossible that we participated in this experiment before, in Atlantis or Lemuria.  It may even be probable.  And what have you learned?  Oh! You forgot.

And that is the point.  The trauma of birth, of trapping our great spirit being into this clammy messy ball of flesh, has wiped all memory from us.

So we drop down onto the glass of water, a dried up seed.  We bob around; the glass is shaken, we are tossed about.  But we don’t come alive until we have had enough and we drop out, drift down, and in due time awaken the germ within and begin to grow.

 

The high volume of negative emotions, the hate, the avarice, jealousy and sheer brutality is thrashing the water in that little glass.  The dead seeds remain; the fertile seeds fall. 

I speak from a place of bifurcated vision.  I sit here on the bottom of the glass, awakened and growing, but also seeing what is happening on the surface with painful clarity.  It hurts my tender shoots to be thrashed about; to see both the victims and the perpetrators.  The victims **terrified victims of war, with no safe home nor food supply; the victims of a ‘democratic’ bureaucratic system who cannot live by fairness and reason, but must conform to artificial structures; the domestic animals that are beaten, abandoned; brother fighting with brother, each fiercely defending an illusion of their own choosing, blocking out the sunlight of the love that is in their hearts for each other.  The perpetrators **Warriors grabbing land from peaceful dwellers; producers inflating the value of their product to stuff their own coffers;  Leaders stealing money from their trusting victim followers;  siblings depriving the weaker of rightful inheritance.

It is a heavy burden, with the eyes of a tender shoot, to see these sharp objects (violent emotions) slashing about.  It hurts, because we are One.  Our tender spirits that live beyond time are actually of one cloth.  Love is at the center of the universe.  Just as a spider feels movement at a remote part of her web, so our brothers trashing love reverberates in our hearts.  It hurts.  It signals that there is disturbance somewhere in our world, and we want to scurry there to feed or repair. This desire is strong; our heats are still made of flesh and blood, and so it hurts.  One day we will lose the flesh, and we won’t be affected in the same way.  Our individual selves will exist in an ocean of Love, and won’t have flesh that can be wounded. 

I long for the day.