The Fallacy of Using Spiritual Practice in order to Understand the World

But the truth is that we will not find clarity through spirituality or through going within because nothing on the outside can ever be clear. Why? Because what is on the outside in the world of material objects and shapes, is illusion.

I was meditating this morning for an hour or so and I am moved to share what I saw during that meditation. Take what resonates. Discard what doesn’t.

I went into the meditation, and after a certain amount of time, I went into a remote viewing session, with the intention of being shown what is going on right now with the virus. I saw a lot of things, much unclear, as remote viewing usually is. But there are an awful lot of children being treated somewhere and many doctors are working on treating them. I saw tunnels and beings who were protecting those who were going in out of the tunnels.

But the content of the remote viewing session is not what I am writing about. The larger and more powerful message is what I want to articulate.

When we are confused about what is going on in our life, we seek outside sources to inform us: friends, family, media, teachers, YouTube videos, the news, etc.  Yet the more we search for these answers outside of ourselves, the more unclear things become. At that point, we have to do a lot of digging and searching, for the nature of the world is illusion, and the truth is not readily found or “bought”.  However, most of us don’t want to dig, and want to be instead “saved”.  So, the only way we can achieve clarity and thus safety with outside information is to by and large shut ourselves off from most of it and choose to listen only to what agrees with our palette. Its like looking at an entire smorgasbord and focusing only the ice cream, and to focus on it so much that all that exists on the smorgasbord is ice cream. People could be screaming “carrots”, “peas” and potatoes, but like any dog is wont to do, we can fixate on the ice cream, barely even hearing or seeing the others surroundings. We are just happy to be with the ice cream. We feel safe and happy with the ice cream. This is how most people choose political opinions, financial choices, relationships, etc. This is how most people shut off the cacophony of mental distortions of external information. We pick one thing and stick with that, many defending it till the death. No one is going to take that ice cream from us. No one. And then we live that way.

But some of us are present to the confusion, the conflicting stores, the illusory nature of the world, and so we seek elsewhere, with an ardent passion to find the truth. Some of us go within, especially when we finally realize that there are no answers “out there”. Yes, the X-Files was wrong. The answer is not “out there”. As a result, we seek to go into meditation or prayer or remote viewing or psychic healing, or some other spiritual modality that might allow us to see clearly what is before us.

But the truth is that we will not find clarity through spirituality or through going within because nothing on the outside can ever be clear. Why? Because what is on the outside in the world of material objects and shapes, is illusion. Speech, art, media, all of it – is illusion. Even what we think love, friendship, kindness is: all illusion. Yet, when we go inward to find the truth of what is going on outside of us, we are still believing that there is something outside of us that can become or made to be clear on the inside, as if somehow the illusion can be made to be other than what it is, if we shine a brighter light on it.  The opposite actually happens. The more we shine our inner light on our outside world, the more we see the illusion, incongruities, the impossibilities, the death and the life of everything, the façade and the masks. Yet many of us persist and often seek financial advice or relationship tips or assistance with our emotions from God or some other being. Some of us have great imaginations and a powerful mind, and we see things in that inner realm that make us believe that we see what is happening. But this too is also illusion. You cannot go inward to discover what is outside. When you go inward, you discover what is inward.  But what is inward, and why would you go there, if not to make your outward life clearer, better, more joyful?

The answer is in the word “make”. You do not make what is inward. What is inward is what you are and who you are. That is all. What you make, on the other hand, is up to you. What you make and what everyone else makes will eventually show up on the “outside”. Are you making or creating from who you are? Or are you making and creating from whatever illusion you believe is outside of you or belongs to you or is like you?  Furthermore, the outward is the illusion from the perspective of truth, and the inward is not, and that means that if you seeing the inward as the path to clarity of what is “outward”, you are not present to the inner at all – for the opposites are illusory manifestations of the one. You just are, everywhere and always. You are the infinite. What you make, on the other hand, shows up in the world, apparently outside of you. When you create a duality between outside and inside, your mind is attempting to sever the connection between you and your world. It is the mind that takes you in that kind of powerlessness, severing not only your connection to being, but everything else’s connection to be. Unfortunately, in our current world, mind is king, and feelings of powerlessness have driven people to addictions of all kinds , depression, anxiety, phobias, and even suicide.

The confusion we suffer causes so much pain and feelings of hopelessnes and helplessness because we are not present to who we are as being, as presence, as powerful creators, as beings who create through our hearts, then our minds, then our hands.  But as it stands now, in the lower consciousness of separation and fear, we will never get the answers we want about the world, because there are no answers to be given. There are only possibilities that can be seeded and conceived through our own being. We can choose to make ourselves and our lives more difficult and more filled with suffering if we refuse to allow our consciousness to rise to our own self-awareness as creator. We can continue to choose to give into panic or fear, as we have been doing at this current time. But if we don’t want to suffer, and we want to live a joyful life and create a better world, we can choose to raise our consciousness beyond fear and lack and participate in a world that expresses that higher consciousness.  Many who read this will say: But I don’t matter. I am just one person. How can my consciousness or lack of it affect the entire world? The answer is that you are still in the mental illusion of separation.  We are all connected at all times and all places. Where one goes, all goes. The majority of the world right now is being subjected to great fear due to financial and physical hardships. It is like warfare and we are being hit hard. You don’t need to be a seer to know this, but as a seer myself, as someone who can “see the thoughts of others” I can see how the collective is currently manifesting thought forms at this time. If the collective, if each person, could become conscious that they are creating their own fear, infecting others, and actually creating an outcome that they say they don’t want, we could turn this ship around.

But as long as we continue to hold onto what Eckhart Tolle calls the pain body and the ego, we will continue to create a world of fear, limitation, narcissistic pre-occupation, fostered by the illusions of a child that is trembling in the dark and looking to be saved by the time Easter arrives.

Love is

Love is
Mightier than any victory
Sharper than the sword
Great conquerer of petty kings
No fragile thing is love
And so when love arrives
You will lose your breath.
You will know.
No doubt you will know
For at first you will fear it
trembling in ecstatic woe
Until you, drained, surrender
to be with the fierce courage
Of being what love is.

Do Not Fear

Book of the Dead: Weighing of the Heart

What is in your heart?
What has been in the hearts of all?
Do we know the evil we have held?
How much darkness has blinded us?
How many children have been lost
without justice, without love?
Lofty heads cannot fight the gravity.
Release what binds you,
and your heart will be as the feather.

Where One Is

Everything that we were,
we ran from.
Everything that we will be,
we ran to.
Everything we are
is what we have always been.
Sit and be silent,
You will hear a mind that worries
You will hear a mind that regrets
You will hear the songs of woe.
Let the ocean tides scatter it all,
Let the sea swallow every shadow,
Gulls fly into the above and below,
wings announcing their horizon,
Even let these go, let the birds go,
Sit and be silent,
Everything that you were,
you are.
Everything that you will be,
you are,
a rose blooming with her thorns,
everywhere from the earth
where one may be,
there is the all.

Love in the Time of Corona

All these, years, I would look for you,
in the sky as I flew
in the mountains as I climbed
upon the grass as I walked.
I even searched for you in the faces of others,
and I would use words to hold your hand,
and I would sing songs to reach your heart,
and use my body to reach inside your soul.
But only silence, only silence was the echo.
I would cry. How deeply I, bereft, would cry,
a love that was lost no matter how hard I’d try.
But today I have found you right here,
for I feel the sun shining from within me,
and I feel my heart flowing with the waters,
the rivers all converging into a greater flood,
people breathing fresher air, feet on the ground,
springtime all around,  flowers lovely peeking
around the corner where children play to seek,
each one blooming, left in peace together growing
as the wisdom of roses, fed by a Love that is Forever.

Two Earths

There are two earths
one is but a map, a contrivance of mind,
a technical floor, the mere ground we stand for,
a doormat of skyscrapers, factories, oceans of oil

What happens when the Mother enters,
her Moon flooding the deep green valleys
skimming the surface of the greater waters?
The shame is much to bear before her Honor.

There are places on the map where no one sees,
and where all our shame and misery can be,
for a map cannot describe almost everything.
A wasteland is its own punishment enough.

Yet there is no soul that doesn’t believe in the divine,
for souls cannot believe that they are not themselves,
and atheists use their arguments as whips and chains:
by blood and fang, they chant of a dark godless Moon.

But the souls who can listen know what is true,
as the Mother enters the room, all anguish begins,
the guilt, the negligence, the seven deadly sins:
all bear weight upon the souls who could have loved.

But just as corpses grow more rotten in the sunlight,
so too do the ways of old that choose greed over love.
Sunglasses will not curb the ultraviolet rays of Source
And so allow the pain of death to give its debt to life.

Then all can choose sacred love for sacred ground
honorable as the great gorilla; gentle as delicate fawn:
breath the air, drink the water, build as flowers build,
sing the chorus of every cell, the swan song of Her Will.

Do You Notice?

do you notice
as you walk deeper into the night,
all lights forced by hands recede,
but the Moon still watches over you,
for she borrows from the daytime Sun?

do you notice
how hard Shame tries to make the Beautiful,
while birds are simply singing their songs,
effortless as the rambling rivers down go on,
coaxed higher by Moon and the wild windy flow?

do you notice
the man who seeks Fame creates attention
in a wobbly world that cannot its attention keep
and so he sows the seeds of Anger and Resentment
against the Moon, the Sun, the Gods of the Deep?

do you notice
how a wound ignored becomes paint upon brush,
splashed upon this imagination or canvas such
“better,” says the artist, “that all creation feel my pain
than I alone suffer without the Rainbow and the Rain.”

do you notice
as Time runs all the Spaces in his Order,
you are trying to catch his art to be “mine”
placing each delicate note inside your mouth
that you might yourself sing pretty for a while?

do you notice
how many want to make themselves heard,
but all that flows are confused shadows hissing
that we can’t hear the birds simply singing songs
effortless as the rambling rivers down go on?

We Are I Alone

I am the music that moves every sphere,
I am each note that lands upon every ear,
stitching melody out of scattered memories

a drop of paint am I upon the broad canvas
a fragment of sky whose walking is the rain
pitter-patter on the earth swirling all her blues

I am spider weaving webs invisible to the eyes
connecting one to another into the wildest lies
epic in scope are the cocoons we are believing

I am the joy in pain and the violence in peace
as soon as the hourglass stands, all sand shifts
one end of nothing laughs, the other is crying

we are all dying, each in part, generation whole,
life lets us go, becoming Whom we do not know
arising and setting both like and unlike the sun

all-seeing eyes are within each and every stone
for we are rooted in crystal patience unknown
as love is rooted, forever still, forever moved,
We are all things, below, above, one and alone.

Poetry is When Love Soars

Many people have asked me why I prefer to write poetry over fictional stories. Why, they wonder, do I choose the more difficult of the creative writing genre? Poetry is, as most realize, an acquired taste.  I choose it because it is a taste not only that I enjoy, but it is a taste that takes me outside of what I immediately perceive as possible. Poetry to me, unlike fiction, takes me deeper into the mysteries of life, in places that are not readily expressed or easily accessed. These are the places where there are hidden treasures unspoken, forbidden, or lost. They have been untouched by language, music, or even breath. Poetry takes us to the strange and uncanny, because it is strange. Because we are strange. Because love is strange.

So poetry is not more difficult. It just takes us to a place where we are not used to going, but we can go there, if we want to and we try. Going there, in fact, will take us into places within ourselves that we only dreamed of, places where anxiety, depression, emotional problems melt away. And why do they melt away? Because we will finally find ourselves at home, in a place where we belong. All it requires is a shift in consciousness from this third-dimensional reality that we think is reality, the reality that we think is hard and difficult and loveless, full of war, and pain and suffering and delusion. That reality, that reality, is the one that is not real. The true reality, the place where poetry blooms, is a place where the delusion unfolds into something magical, breathtaking, cosmic, and full of divine grace, where even the greatest pain in your life makes sense and where all the death and misery holds a key to not only truth but bliss, not only for you, but for all.

For the places where poetry can grow are untouched. These places are accessed from within you and they are as the purest water or purest air. They are the scared places of the world, and they are accessed from within our heart spaces, through the soul, in the light of what many call Source light. The subject matter of poetry cannot be seen within the three-dimensional form of light that bathes this lower world. No. Poetry has the multiverse and the multidimensional as its subject matter: the place where true creation happens. Science, fiction, stories that reject poetry: all of these can be wonderful, but they spend their time on creating more stories in this world, the world in which we suffer, not the world as the world that is our true heaven, the birthright of all. And that is why poetry makes people uncomfortable. Poetry calls into our own multi-dimensional intuition of ourselves; that part of us that makes us a bit uncomfortable, because we know on subconscious level, that the life we see through the five senses and this mind that analyzes them is living in a lie, a virtual world that has no meaning in and of itself. It is difficult for people to want to face that truth, although we enjoy movies that suggest it like the Matrix, which minimally dances with poetry. Plato as well spent his life working in the “matrix” and helping students who were willing to rise above it, from a life of victim-hood and suffering, to a life of wonder and goodness and true consciousness.

Furthermore, poetry calls us to speak in ways that we do not usually speak. It seems to speak in riddles that are deliberately designed to be obscure and strange, like a puzzle that takes a tremendous amount of effort to unfold. But that is just it. It is a puzzle, this mystery, this love, and if the poet makes the mystery too clear and recognizable, the curiosity will never be evoked, the wonder, the desire to seek into the stranger regions of life. A poet that writes with clarity is not writing poetry. He is generally writing impressions or feelings. Still the poet will strive to make the mystery clear, by evoking the questions as accurately as possible. The questions are more beautiful than the answers, after all. And what question is greater than the question of love, of life, of your life, itself?

But know that there is nothing wrong with expressing beautiful feelings and impressions clearly in the world. Yet that is the state of our reality now, in the third dimension. We have psychology to feed us clear explanations of why we feel a certain way. We have clear solutions like drugs and therapy that tell us that they will make us feel better. Psychology gives a story to explain our suffering in an intellectual way and paints a very crude picture of the nature of the pain and pleasure within us. But do they take us closer to who we are, or further away? Do we not begin to feel numb, a numbness that simply trains itself to be content with a life of longing, regret, chasing desires or trying to suppress them? A life of dreams cast aside, deep sadness and resignation subdued only by inane distractions and self-righteous justifications. We no longer have time for love or poetry. We no longer have time for ourselves.

But still poetry beckons us back to the mystery of life, that child-like energy that brings back to the magic, the excitement and the power within ourselves, within others, within the whole world. Simply, it is the energy that makes it exciting to get up in the morning, not because you are going to Disney World, but because you are simply alive. Poetry, in short, is the flower of that kind of life, the love of the world, and reveals the human attempt and effort to express what is not easily expressed because true love leaves us bewildered and baffled and dumbfounded. Love, like poetry, is a playing on the very limits of language itself, and is always threatening, upon every verse, to push us over the edge into the void of time and space; for that is who we truly are, standing ever on the edge with one foot holding on to the delusions of our life, and the other hanging in mid-air, waiting for the wings to finally grow. But we truly don’t need to wait. We can just step off, for that is when the wings will grow, not before and not after. For now is the only time when love can soar.