The Spirit Place
Friday, 5/21/2021 4:40ish am just woke up, sweaty, clammy cold and not ready to let go of dreamland. I don't get to go there very often, not as an immersive experience anyway. Alcohol and cannabis inhibit the crossing over. However, I've had a bout of the flu the last few days to clear my head while the sleep sweats purify from the inside out.
I didn't want to leave the place where everything makes sense, if you just let it. A mind could get lost in the making sense part - ten thousand things all connected, still one, still separate and isolated. It was a forest, a city, an abandoned history bred out of collective memory, a craft shared across cultures across eons across a very small planet. There was a lot of consciousness going on in the spirit place just now, and I was allowed to eavesdrop. The waking was sad, but appropriate and necessary. Here-now of reality is particularly sucky these days.
A 48 hour bout of the old fashioned flu, which my grandnephew shared so generously with me, opened the door and let me out to explore forgotten connections. I understand pain and discomfort, and foul excretions. Birth, growth, healing and death: nothing real happens without effluvia and fire. The place I went this last bit before awakening was convoluted, part ancient forest, part run down house with secret books and cabinets, part decayed and overgrown university, all places where skills and handcrafts necessary for survival are lessons littered upon the ground, waiting for a willing hand to pick it up and try. There were "others" in this place with me, brief interactions with shades, shadows, whispers, glimpses. Alone, but not alone. Spooky, but not scary. Labels are immaterial in the spirit place. If it had a scent, it'd be fertile topsoil under a gardener's fingernails. It's a living place, a metaphor. I want to go back, I think. "You never actually leave," it thinks back at me.
I'm not a Christian, but these are the end times of this cycle on our little blue marble. Setting aside fear of ego-death is paramount to maintaining my sanity as the next weeks, months and years, few or many, unravel. There was no whiff of evil in the spirit place; it's the waking world that reeks of it.
Your "true self" isn't property. You aren't meant to be chattel, or commodity, but your existence is completely commodified. Your societal value is based on what can be exploited from you. When there's nothing left to extract, you're discarded. The ultimate commodification is
the
fucking
iatrogenic gene therapy injection and it's requisite global "passport." YOU have ceased to exist. The technology is elegantly sinister. A constant barrage of fear porn has rewired brains, broken spirits and inflated selfishness. People you love demand you join them in blind compliance. Disgusted by strength, offended by autonomy, disconcerted by self-reliance, the human sheople are turning on those whose basic urge is to remain human, to remain sovereign, to remain holy and pure. This isn't a question of "God," tho it may be for some
My waking thoughts are scattered. Today was supposed to be my son's last day of HS, last day on campus, but he had the barfs, too, so has to do it online. I was telling him about the dream, because it reminded me of a spiritual truth, or two, that occasionally falls by the wayside and needs to be retrieved. Yes, the end times. If misery is being shoved upon us, whether we comply with the globalist overlords' agenda or not, the most profound acts of resistance include absolute refusal to give into manufactured fear, and determination to nurture the positive, loving and joyful aspects always there in the cracks, behind the door and in the scent of roses. Our little family, or troop as the younger son is prone to say, is always broke. Right now uncomfortably so. This is Vegas: lots of soul-killing service industry jobs. Lots of Cali escapees trying to turn #VegasStrong into a suburb of LA. Tropical plants don't thrive in the desert, but new housing going north is landscaped as if this were the Pacific coast. I digress. We'll do as we must, without degrading ourselves, to survive and experience the beauty in the smallest and grandest of things. I have some creative activities, long neglected, to attend to. Life is short, we all have an expiration date. Embrace the fact, and live in joy. Facing it with dread causes one to spend that brief time in fear, despair and hatred. Constant emotional self-abuse vs love of life.
