Christ, Revelations and Fifth Density

 Light and Dark

Light can’t co-exist with darkness.  Flick the switch!  Walk into the light.

This is what I have been highlighting with my friends/acquaintances in the past few weeks/months.  But wait.  What is this?  Turns out, there are degrees of light!  It isn’t all or nothing, black or white. 

Ever since Atlas (3/I) entered our air space, I have been awakening my spiritual path.  Or should I say it more passively…my spiritual path has been awakening.  [And that is the crux of the premise of this essay]  Not that I ever left it, but seems like there it was at the center of things, until it disappeared.  Until now; something has jump-started this new age for me. 

I had followed a private, little-known channeler, Samual.  My oldest and dearest friend in the world introduced me to him, in the past decade, as I readjusted to ‘western society’.  Acknowledgement that we live in an era that quantifies invisible air waves.  I was able to follow Samual through the internet.  Specifically, Zoom meetings.  This one was a very well-guarded entity, permitting his followers--what I interpret to be--very little access.  I am comparing this scene to years of my training with the Tibetans in their home-in-exile, Dharmsala, India.  Their way of teaching feels much more interactive and personal.

Apparently, roughly 30 yeas ago the earth was swept through a particular wave field, that created an opening opening for spirit and galactic individuals to synthesize with humans.  More and more I am getting the picture that they are living amongst us in remarkable numbers, leading small groups having their private followers, very low key.  Only a few have reached the level of notoriety.  A few I have come across on YouTube are: Bashan, Lee Harris, Kelly Kolodney, and David Clemens.  There are many more having podcasts, too many for me to know about.  In fact, I do believe it is possible to take a course in becoming a channeler.  Would love to take it, I am curious, but too lazy. :-{

Samual’s teachings tend to be intellectual and at a semi-deep level.  More like a college course into dark secrets.  I was needing fuel to wake up my soul.  I need food.  These insights were nourishing guava; unripened sour guavas, but would have to do until the ripe sweet ones come along.

Samual alerted his group about the Atlas coming into our airspace.  Once, though I cannot place it as to time, he taught an exercise that he said was to prepare our bodies for the new energies coming, giving us an eighth strand to our DNA, or capacity for 8th density, or I don’t remember more than that he was trying to prepare us for what was to come.

Then, of course, I started doing more reading about this Atlas.  Step by step I was led to David Clemens.  And so my spirit led me back home, aligning the old path to this updated one, and I was flying.

I had crossed the veil, seen the light, could knowingly Let Go.  Suddenly, I was Holier than Thou!  I made it to the promised land.  I was floating on air. It was so easy!  Just let go; say yes to the warm ocean of light that flows in and unites you in an ocean of love, pure love and light.  One with the Source.  Know God.  Reunite to the Flame

Truth remains, as I discovered decades ago, once off the meditation cushion it can all disappear mighty quickly.

I thought, this time I had past the sputtering stage, and reached the Free Flowing stage, even if it were only my toes tickling the ocean.  My optimism was drowning out the Truth, again.    On the plus side, it is as if while I was dormant, I was still slowly cleaning out the muck that fought with the Light.  My impurities, egoism, judgmentalism, as well as the crippled but not dead:  self-deception, no longer relevant contracts and promises, desires; the dross that grows on us like barnacles, from birth.  Some even come along with us in birth.   It seems that they continued to grow weaker, their hold on me.  In the Tibetan years I had done many, many practices and rituals with the purpose of cleansing these more banal and negative impulses and habits.  I was glad that I got to do that during a focused period of my life.  Millions are now dealing with that, each to varying degrees, while living a householders life.  Work, family relationship, financial demands.  What a nightmare.  And now, on top of that, having to face and deal with our hidden self, the muck from deep within our souls. The cleansing work must be done, however, one way or another.  This work is done on the ‘energy ‘ level.  Our body vibrates at an energy level.  (Since the discover of the atom, which happened in my lifetime, we have known that our bodies are not as solid as we thought.  They are made up of atoms, a constant spinning around the nucleus; invisible to our naked eye, but now that we know, we cannot look away.)  The dross holds our body back from being able to vibrate at a higher, more refined energy level; a level that receives more Light, that Light of God, or Source.   I happen to prefer David Clemens path, because it gets to the core.  Not all the theorizing and philosophizing and schmoozing that others offer.  Other healers have to feed the ego while teaching their followers how to break it down; the young’ns are still fragile.

In the last few days, I could feel myself filling up again with the dross.  Why?  What’s going on?  But no, these are the wrong questions.  This is the old energy approach.  Let me introduce here, for ease of reference, 3D energy and 5D energy.  Some soothsayers, in efforts to wrap their heads around this new consciousness, say that the energetic earth is splitting into two time lines.  Those still functioning in third density (3D) vibration are living their lives as they always have, for millennium.  That is not too dramatic a time span, to give an idea of how drastic a change is coming upon us now.  That level of density is incompatible with the change in vibrational density that is now revolutionizing life on Earth, called fifth density (5D).  And so, being incompatible, our channelers are telling us that the 3D world  cannot and will not survive.  They and their societies will fade out and disappear.  They will not thrive.  When I toy with this concept in my mind, I see two highways.  One is rising, while the other is sinking into collisions and splits; the one is rising, dripping with those holding on by their fingertips, the slow pokes, the late bloomers, the procrastinators.  I am assured this is too literal.

But who decides? Millions of good Christians are trying their best to live out the life of our Christ figure, our Holy Brother, our God the Father.  They have no idea about a “New Earth”.  Of course, for those who study the New Testament they see a description that talks about a New Earth, but it is difficult to clearly see any connection between that description and what we see around us.  The traditional churches may not be doing anything to illuminate the connection, either.

Throughout the New Testament, especially in the Book of John, but in Acts as well and elsewhere, the teachings of Christ as captured by his followers seem to point at it; we see hints, if only we can  interpret them.

We are told not to let our hearts grow weary by working too hard, and worrying—being concerned.  After all, the beautiful wild flowers put on a show for us every year, but they require no fuss from us.  The birds, of which each and every feather is seen by the Eye of God, don’t worry unduly about building a nest and feeding their young.  You don’t see them organizing into unions to protect their rights.  What?  How is that instructional?  These bills don’t get paid by themselves.

The New Earth, the fifth dimension, works on different principles entirely.  There is a flowing, an alertness to this new awareness.  Usually I bring a list when I go food shopping.  I go into town for specific things.  Now I find that the list is almost not useful.  As I flow through the market, the things I need present themselves to my hand, the feet find the right aisles.  The car finds the right doorways, to pick up the little things, to pay the bills, to remember to say hi to a friend who is thinking of me.  I find the right amount of change in my purse, even if it was empty when I left the house.  The right person crosses my path, to address something I was thinking about.  To my old way of thinking, I would call these coincidences.  Accompanied by a smooth, calm and joyful mind space, I know it is me yielding to the higher intelligences, the spirits and galactic beings, that walk alongside me and flow within me.  We move in an ocean of Love, which connects us all at all times.  That being the case, I have to ask myself why in the world I would allow old memories, old habits, low-density energies to distract me from that bliss, to pull me down.

It is free will all the way.  My struggle is to maintain conscious awareness at all times, to not let these old bugaboos drag me down.  On days like this, I cannot see what muck is being stirred up.  I only know “I don’t feel like it.”  I don’t feel like meditating, I don’t feel like denying the negativity.  The chores that I ‘should’ do like cleaning house and washing dishes, are virtues totally not appealing to me today.  The concept of ‘tough love’ seems called for here.  The deeper-knowing parts of me (Me being not necessarily just my brain, but my spiritual awareness available to work together).  If I let these negativities rule the day, the stain of their dross carries over to the next day, and so and so it builds.  Then the ‘Holier than Thou’ energy rings hollow.  It doesn’t work.  It is up to me to change the dynamic. 

And so it is, the interplay of the assertive and passive, working together.  There is a momentum required when actualizing change.  How is it for you?  Can the momentum build through doing the ‘right thing’, the spiritual practices building that muscle until one day the switch is flicked and I am walking in the bountiful Light, buoyed in the Ocean of Love?   Or am I required to produce more of that forward momentum by focusing all day every day on maintaining that quiet mind, fighting off that ‘monkey’ mind? 

I know that the chaos and catastrophes that a man called Trump is subjecting the world to is tremendously destructive, and needs to end.  I would like someone to take a rifle to him and blow his brains out, with the goal to ending it all and beginning the healing.  But in fact I know that that one man is only a cog; just one particle of a greater dynamic , through whose godless machinations the old world will be destroyed, or certain essential parts of it, in order to make room for the New Earth.  This I know because of a deep awareness that there is a whole universe out there that I have been cut off from at my birth, and that I am now in the throes of being reunited with.  That is the foundation of my faith.  What is the foundation of yours?

 

A Durango Village

 At New Year I moved to a new home, down the street from a cramped and crumbling home from where I wrote my most recent blog posts. 

That was across the street from "Sparky" which I later changed to the more noble and nuanced "Spartacus". He was a noble beast locked in an ugly battle he could not win. Two days ago his owner poisoned him to death and unhooked the chain to let him run, so he would die down the road. It was dark. Perhaps he thought whoever found him in the morning would assume he had been struck by a car. I found him. I examined his body, which was unbroken. Only his jaw was clenched, and his last breaths blew bloody bubbles.

I suggest to the town's elected judge that a bully who would kill his 11 Year old daughter's beloved pet had it in him to murder a human. Does she feel safe with him as a neighbor?  Unlike all other residents of this tiny village {except me}, he is unrelated to anyone in the village; he rents his house.  He is a musician, in bars a lot, often drunk whether working or not. But it was she who made me turn over the Labrador to him after I had given the dog a couple night's respite in our home. I had warned her that this man was abusing the dog, but she has not yet elevated herself from this patriarchal society, where the man is always right.  This was a few weeks ago, where I promised her I would not make any more trouble. I would not 'interfere' between this man and his "beloved', supposedly, dog.

At 5 pm Tuesday, hours before he would die, we were standing in the road near the chained dog, the judge and I, talking about our Senior's club meeting that had just ended. Spartacus was barking furiously, eyes fixed on me, begging that I free him. I could not. Did he have a premonition?

[< I am typing on my phone. I cannot find a way to insert photos here. I will have to save the rest of this until I am on my computer, because it is meant to be a photo report of the cul de sac where we now live.   oops. I am at the internet cafe in town, where the computers dont have Windows 10.  The owner has lent me his laptop, with a Spanish keyboard that is a mystery to me>)

Here is our new neighborhood.  It is very old, and referred to as la plazuela. Any native Spanish speakers out there, if you can, please explain the nuances.  Here, la plaza is what in S Mexico we call the zocolo. La Placita is the Canatlan park where locals buy and sale their stuff on Mondays and Fridays.  

...Please overlook the technical glitches.  At internet cafe, strange computer keyboard, could not find cut and paste, hence the following is out of sequence...

Here is Spartacus as our house guest.  He dwarfs this  3 foot bed.

And this is how he spent his days and nights, 24  7.  This view is from the owners house looking to the street.  He is chained to that tree.  Ah, but not anymore.  

And here is the plazuela.  This tree must have been here first, and the adobe homes built around it.

To the left is one more adobe attached home, then the half circle comes back to the road there on that side.  Leaving the semi circle on that side, the next property is fenced with cyclone fencing, it houses a large apple orchard and sports about 16 free range beautiful panoply of chickens and roosters, none of which lay eggs.  Thats not the point..they are just beautiful.  That is the end of the road that dumps you into the plazuela...or  the road makes a sharp right and bypasses us to get to the river and the two lane highway.  We are at the other end of the semi-circle, a corner home aside the narrow road that leads out.

This is Manuels house.  He is the youngest brother of a large family of bullies and abusers.  His sensitive soul has never recovered.  He can be seen weaviing out of his door at 8 am, to join the other one or two alkies warming in the sun.

 

I have not yet been inside.  apparently the front room has no roof.  The adobe is very old, I am thinking 300 years, based on my acquaintance with the history of this county.  Hopefully his inner room with roof is large enough to turn around.  Zoom in and enjoy.  I am fascinated by the construction.  Why has adobe fallen out of favor --see question mark cause I cant find it on this keyboard.  The key thus marked yields other things, like - and _

The Tepehuanes had settled this region very nicely.  Lots of little settlements.  In the 17th century the King decided he wanted this region as his own, and sent a couple of Franciscan friars and their followers to claim it in his name.  A vicious battle ensued, the natives were driven out, and these European-looking people .. the 30 families.. established their large farms on land gifted by the King.  I have seen no modern records nor heard no stories beyond that snippet more remote than the 20th century, from the seniors still living.  Families had 17 and 18 children, routinely.  One of the matriarchies, Elena, passed at age 94.  Her middlish daughter who took care of her after retirement was murdered, run down by the pickup of a jealous brother.  I found that body, too, one Sunday morning on my way to town.   Sheesh.

My dear friend, Simona, was born about where Manuels house is, 96 years ago.  We share birthdays, a day and twelve years apart.  She is amazingly clear, no Alzheimers, although her short term memory is not great.  Her story deserves a post of its own.  Her husband, much older than she, belonged to Pancho Villas band.  These revolutionaries hid out here in this tiny village for a number of years.  Francisco Villa, born an hours drive down the road here in Durango State, is recorded in history as one of the main revolutionaries to bring independence to Mexico.  He was assassinated--I think in the 1930s--to give you some historical perspective.

And here is our front gate.  The red guy is Junior, the poodle mix is Loki.  In spite of being born in my home 5 years ago, Junior was not named by me.  I gifted him to a neighbor, who is very good to animals.  But this friends boss took possession of the dog.  There were also about 3 other huge dogs living in that large farm, making sport of Junior judging by the scars on his body.  At last he said ENOUGH and asked me to take him home.

Loki belonged to one of Elenas sons..  The wife died this past weekend.  Loki accompanied me to the funeral Mass at our little church.  They were a prominent family--they had a small herd of cows, and she made cheeses and sold milk.  She had had a stroke some ten years before I made her acquaintance.  In spite of half her body being useless, she still heated a huge tub of gallons of milk every day.  I give her credit for being a very strong, determined woman.  But something happened to her heart.  When I pick up a broom or mop today, Loki cringes and tries to slink away, eyes fearful, ears down.  What he must have endured at her hands to want so desparately to escape.  Today, nine years old, he is one fearful, timid, neurotic dog.  This family also had a mechanics shop in their small garage.  Now their youngest son has graduated with an engineering degree, and runs the shop.  So here we are at this church crowded to overflowing.  Loki is bouncing with joy, weaving through the crowd jumping and greeting, and being greeted, by more people than I even know.  The next day, after our breakfast, he disappeared for a few hours.  It is my belief that he returned to his childhood home to enjoy what visitors were still around.  But he returned at the end of the day.  I had hopes that he would feel welcomed and not want to return to me.  He is, after all, a neurotic handful.  Maybe some day, as the family recovers from their loss.

Enter by this front gate.  There is the driveway.  To the left, a rose garden, old and poorly maintained.  I amatuerishly pruned the six or eight rose bushes, we will see down the road how I did. Straight ahead, leaving the car, is the front door.  The house is very old.  It is retrofitting with a bathroom.  This en suite is up a steep ramp.  It had stairs, but the previous tenant, the mother of the woman who loves all those pretty chickens and who is renting me this house, could no longer maneuver them.

Everything leaks.  If I want a warm face wash at the bathroom sink, I need an electric kettle and a bowl.  I keep a pitcher under the dripping pipe in the shower.  It fills a couple of times a day, and that is the flush for my toilet.  If I keep the water on for the toilet tank to fill, the tile underfoot fills with water too.  I am too old to do the simple repair, and so I live with it.  With patience, I can get a hot shower once I have run the tiny electric portable heater in the bathroom about an hour, and passed my arm through a frigid stream to open the faucet and wait for the hot water to reach me from the rooftop solar boiler.  I am delighted with this new development.  I did not have even this option in the other house where I lived for the past six months.

The house is large, it meanders.  There are no more than 2 bedrooms, but across an enclosed patio there is a large storage room for all my remaining junk, which means I live with minimum clutter.  I have my own stove installed now, which means it is fully functioning.  One day I will get someone to install a marvelous faucet I bought for a previous ephemeral house.  That will signal the end of a semi-functioning kitchen sink, with a sodden base below the constantly dripping pipes.

I hope you enjoyed my meandering tales of my present homeplace.  Come visit whenever youre in the neighborhood.  I have an extra bedroom!