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I am SO relieved, this is the last of them! This is all the stuff I found in handwritten journal fragments and a few emails. I have more in a ‘book two’ for bewilderness but I cannot find that file anywhere.

This post is just a collection of thoughts and dreams, nothing important just some shamanic and spiritual and psi and odd stuff, same ‘ol. I don’t want to lose these pieces esp as some are slightly ‘dark side’ (which I tend to under-record) and I’m clearing out the physical books, so I’m putting it here for my ‘search’ posterity. Thankfully future blogging should only be current stuff now.

I have not done any meditating in the few days since I’ve been collecting this stuff. I see now that a huge edu was needed for me as I’d forgotten a ton of important stuff esp. about the Four, and chakras, and outer guides, and so on, so I feel it was worth the effort.

 

Journal fragment, June 25, 2008

I was in a dream having a conversation with someone who was a teacher. I asked him, Do you think I should I be learning to deal with negative spiritual stuff? And he said something I don’t remember (which implied “No”) and then explained at the end of that:

For you should be able to say with a clear heart:
“I know nothing of evil; I know only the goodness of the Lord.”

Later, I found I was wearing a very beautifully intriguing “black heart” pendant necklace, and I understood that this belonged in nature to a woman who was evil, and that would not be me, and so I gave it back to her, feeling it was not appropriate that I should wear it. Then me and “my people” stood singing Ave Maria for quite awhile.

Despite that went on awhile, and I think other dreams and quite some time passed before I woke up, still when I woke I had his voice and that sentence running through my head so clearly, as if it was set to be the first thing I heard on awakening, to be sure I wouldn’t forget it.

Ave Maria no less! I’m not even catholic.

*

Journal fragment, July 22 or 23, 2008

Archmed on fear of failure [specific to conscious psi functioning performance]. The arch was a sickly green and a sickly yellow, humanoid, with a fish head and some things sticking out of him. Long shape through gut, chest, and head was a harpoon! I dissolved it. Cleaned him with water of life. Another tall rectangle stuck out the top of his head. As I dissolved this, the back of my right hand suddenly hurt, I could tell they were related.

I thought, “I sense his fish head means issues from the womb.” He said to me, “Also, those passed genetically by parents.” (I wondered if this a common symbol or only mine.)

He was then in a tuxedo, and we danced in an outdoor ballroom under the stars. I told him I thought fear of failure could sometimes be useful, that I was not trying to destroy him, but it had been so strong that in some areas it interfered with my trying something at all, which defeated the point of my being alive. I asked him to help push me to succeed, instead.

I kissed his fishy forehead and took him back to IG. I forgot to ask him for something on/in me but I think it’s ok. {Note: this was not a good med; I should have attempted better and complete healing.}

 

Journal fragment, Feb 8, 2006

Archmed on fear/rage. Big bulky muscled guy. Every time I tried to look directly at it, I had a sharp pain literally in my heart!, and felt massive fear in my gut.

Enough work and finally he surprised me by unzipping the bulk and stepping out of himself like most of the outer body had been clothes. Weird. Felt like it worked ok though.

 

Thoughts. 15Jan06. Technology of prayer

I got into a meditation of prayer. At one point, I nearly shifted into a state I sometimes experienced when doing hands-on energy work. It feels as if “a light opens up in me” from “just in front of me” yet it is also somehow “through” me, heart to crown. It feels as if light comes down via my crown chakra, and “I” am moved slightly backward in my body, just behind center. (It’s possible the heart chakra is in the front of the body, like the 3rd eye, not the center, and this is what I’m feeling.)

I began praying to be made a better person so I could better serve othres and the greater good. This became a distinct state of mind, one I have not felt before. This led to a thought:

Might there be a technology of sorts for prayer? Some “method” — or at least, a certain intent — whereby prayer, like my experience, shifts from being an idea or process, into that “holy communion”?

I nearly shifted into it twice, not successfully. Maybe my thinking “about” it instead of just “being” it got in the way. (The primary lesson of my spiritual life involved getting my left brain the hell outta the way and pushing for ‘doing’ not ‘thinking’ which sidetracks me into intellectualism.)

So I asked to be taught “how to pray”. To really do it right, do it best, not just a mental thing but a full-on powerful energy thing.

I have that new inner guide now. He is kinda pale up close. Has tiny spots on his side I see now, like Dax the ‘trill’ on DS9. Weird!

 

Journal fragment, January 20, 2006

In a dream, I was having a discussion with two women and a man. They were identical like triplets. After a few moments, I became suspicious about this. I could feel it just wasn’t… right. They were unnaturally too similar in the feel of their energy, especially for having different genders.

“Are you *sure* you’re not a trifurcated biological clone?” I demanded, which I know in my head is an intentionally created-being that is actually neither gender.

“Yes,” they admit sheepishly.

“I haven’t met many of those,” I say carefully, trying not to show judgement.

“Oh, there are tons of us. Tons and tons!” they tell me with enthusiasm.

I do often have ‘three’ in dreams, but it is usually either three things in series or three levels…

 

Journal fragment, September 3, 2005

I’ve been thinking. The only thing we truly own is our ‘sense of the continuity of identity’.

My body changes at every level constantly. The body I claimed last week is not the me of today. By the time I have even a thought about this, the body which began the thinking is no longer quite the same. The only thing remaining from the me of 20 years ago is the potential illusion of my “sense of continuous identity.” When I am someone else in a dream I am me. When I am someone else in an RV target I am me. When I was a different person in a different place at a different time 25 years ago, I am me. When I tune into the me in a dream I may have years of history in that reality. It is all me. If the only thing I perceive is, obviously, “my own perception,” then how is anything else I perceive independent of me? Doesn’t my perception alone force all things into the subjective channel of me?

[a short time after that, the crucixion happened, so maybe that answered that.]

 

Journal fragment, [date unk]

I am “of” so many things and places and peoples and times, the only thing familiar to me when I get in the flow is the Sun. I feel as if the sun is the one thing that has been a constant in all my lives, in all my worlds, in all my realities, in all my times. I think I understand the ‘Ra’ concept, and I like the name, because of that. I call it Ra and tell him how much I adore him.

 

Journal fragment, [date unk]

Quote from Seth:

“…The body is composed of living, responding atoms and molecules, and they compose the cells, and these combine to form the organs. The organs possess the combined consciousnesses of each of the cells within them, and in their way the organs sense their own identity.” […] “While you are in this reality there is no division between the mental, the spiritual and the physical. If you think there is, then you do not sufficiently understand the spirituality of the flesh or the physical reality of your thought.”

 

Journal fragment, November 10, 2004

I went to my OG plateau, in prep for another CC med, and the main guide told me I should ask to work with “the most substantial block” I had.

I said, physical or energy? He said, the physical IS energy.

 

Journal fragment, [date unk, 2006?]

Today in an archetype meditation on “issues with authority which are manifesting as overwhelming debt”, a variety of things went on during the med. The archetype was predictably horrifying. The ones you have a problem with always are. This one was dark and disgusting and sorta slimy and had way too many things going on for a normal body. ¬†I cleaned and dried and so on, visualizing various dynamics as needed for healing.

When it was done there was still one issue, this weird motion, and I reached in and a snake slithered out of it and I grabbed it and pulled it out and visualized the light-of-love all over it. Normally things morph into something better, but this just disappeared like dissolved.

I said, “What does this mean, I don’t get it?”

And the arch said, “Your mild incest as a child with authority figures has set up a belief system geometry that makes them the ‘overwhelming unfightable authority’ and you the ‘vulnerable helpless’ one. You live what you know and you’ve held that pattern.”

I said, “Holy shit! You’re telling me that incest causes financial problems?” This struck me as sort of absurd.

It said, “No, I’m telling you that *for you*, that experience caused a build of certain energy structures that in your current life are manifesting in this way.”

He then ‘showed’ me in a sort of ‘understanding-sequence’ that for other people, this might manifest as a bad boss, an invasive mother in law, cops with a tendency to harrass, the list was infinite.

I felt a focus in the bottom front of my right foot, the ball and a little bit forward, and I said, “That is a main body area that relates to this authority problem?” and he agreed.

{I JUST was looking for an answer to this, so it’s awesome I found record of that med.}

 

Journal fragment, July 1, 2006

In a dream, I met a man I saw so clearly it was mind boggling. He had very dark hair, and he was a really big guy. {Later when awake I thought his name might have been “Ben,” but I didn’t remember that from the dream so it might be wrong.}

He had been a remote viewer in some secret military effort, I understood. I perceived him as if he had some kind of family relationship to me. I kept going back around him, and he acted like he couldn’t decide if he was happy to meet me or felt weird about it all.

At one point he picked up a couple offbeat things in his hand I can’t recall, but I think one was fire and one was wind… but they were objects. He began to go off to use them, and I realized they had connection for use as a prop during psi, in a sort of negative RI kind of way. He saw that I saw, and he looked at me sadly, like that wasn’t really who he wanted to be inside, and yet was in his real life.

I just couldn’t believe how clearly I saw the guy, never seen this person in life that I know of, I suppose it must be ‘an aspect’ of me or something. I slept at his house, and he woke me up early to exercise. I protested greatly that I see no relation to RV in this. He was really a dominating trainer-bully about it.

 

Journal fragment, September 2002

I was lucid in this dream but it was a shamanic trap! Sheesh. Either that or even my dreams are getting really paranoid.

In the dream–well actually I was doing something else and the dream was interrupted/changed when a man from Mexico came to find me, asking to travel/stick close to me. Said he’d known and loved my mother very well {she died of cancer when I was 9}, implying that should make me treat him like family. He said he needed shelter because both our governments had unfairly abused him (he showed me pictures of him beat up and bruised), and implied they were responsible for her death.

He assured me that my father also knew him as mom’s close friend, but I promptly wondered, “Does dad really know him??” and my father ‘pops into’ the dream and says to us, “No way, I have no idea who that guy is!” and vanishes. So this other man pops into existence on his side, and validates the guy, and assures me dad just doesn’t remember.

The man gives me a box to keep for him, to keep near us, with a subtle implication things in it had been mom’s. For some reason we have to part.

I go straight to my close friend X, a soldier and psychic and father figure {in real life}, and I tell him about this. He is instantly distrustful. He takes the box, ‘feels’ it and then opens it. It’s filled with what seemed to be gifts or a woman’s things, like crochet needles and such, innocent and pretty. But X says with a growl, “These are weapons.” He takes most of the pointy/knife-like things and hides them in his clothing.

He comes with me to find the man, he wants to hunt him down himself, before the guy comes back for me. But we’re interrupted by this gorgeous young woman, who sucks up to X and tells me to please go wait ‘over there’ in a waiting room while they talk privately. X loses all facial expression and looks totally neutral, so I can tell he doesn’t trust her at all, but he hesitantly indicates I should go ahead and wait where it’s safe and they will talk.

I went into the waiting room and found myself instantly trapped in a weird prison. Another woman stood helpless in there and clearly unhappy about it.

“That’s implant #25”, the woman said in disgust, about the pretty woman who’d gotten X’s attention.

“Impl– you mean this is a dream, and this woman is like a thought form implanted into the dream by an outside someone or agency?” I said in astonishment.

“Yes,” she agreed sullenly. I searched for an escape. “Don’t bother,” she groused. “There isn’t one. It’s not like they wouldn’t have thought to make it impossible.” But I knew how details of my mind often escaped the dream implanters, as I knew I had encountered them before, so I went looking anyway, determined.

I finally found my way out, and I went straight to my friend; the woman had gone. He said quietly to me, “None of this is real. This is all invented solely to get you to allow that man to get and stay close to you.”

Then I felt very confused, like my mind was suddenly grey static for a second, followed by it suddenly clearing but now I ‘remembered’ a brand new sliver about my past I’d never had before. I heard myself blurting out some confession about it to my friend, a thing that might normally be expected to make someone distracted from whatever they’re thinking about by that kind of news (something about ‘whoring 20 men a day once as a child’ or something like that, with an overlay of mind control). But my friend didn’t even blink, he instead focused on showing me that the man had provably been lying. As he was showing me this, the man showed up with minions, and they laughed wickedly, intending to kill him, as X yelled at me, “Get down!”

I dropped and rolled, hiding behind a piece of furniture, as sounds of some scuffle ensued. It was mostly quiet and still then, and I dared to peek out. Bodies lay around the floor, with obviously thrown stabbing implements in them, the ones X had hidden in his clothes from that box. He said, “I killed him first, as I trusted him least,” pointing at the foreign guy.

Then he took me “somewhere safe” and sat down quietly with me and asked me about the thing I’d said about childhood. I began to tell him, but as I was doing so, somehow it all “shifted away from me” like it no longer existed. I said, “I think I may have accidentally invented that. I don’t know. To be honest, I have so many histories of me, that I sometimes have no idea who I am.” (I had an overlay of multiple realities and being able to tune into any of them as one’s “past”.) He nodded as if he understood. He was sitting up against something, and I leaned over and put my head against his chest, finally feeling safe, and fell asleep. A short time later, my alarm woke me up.

 

Journal fragment, 2004 I think

Perhaps this world is illusion, like the magic spells in our archetypal stories which cause the hero to be lost in the wilderness. When we look and see, we believe what we see. If we look only at where our feet touch our path, and have faith in that, the path may unveil itself to us one step at a time. Look ahead though, and you’re lost. Like driving through heavy fog in the dark, we must steer by the tiny strip of white line on the pavement at the side; trying to look into the opaque abyss is suicide.

Maybe my daily life and insecurities are like the confused journey of someone wandering the forest and believing every path they see. Maybe they are valid, but then again: how often do I ask myself with my heart, from the depth of myself that is more than the surface I call me, “what is real?”

What we experience… maybe it depends not so much on where we are, or when we are, or who we are, as what we are. And what we are changes every moment. Not just in body but on more levels than we can count. We are always in a state of ‘becoming’. I sense: The human is terrified by the unknown. The mind and ego are forced to work within time, and hold a consistent sense of identity, but every moment is actually the ‘new’. Might this be why humans cling so fiendishly to tradition, ritual, and fear of change?

The Narrator is a part of me. I would be less ‘me’ without him. Yet he also has another existence without me, as I do him. We… ‘overlap’ and merge where we do. To the extent I focus my attention so he ‘comes through’ me (“intuitive writing” is his voice, so to speak), I benefit from his… insight. And he benefits from my… energy… or something. It is a tradeoff. As I once wrote–thanks to him–we “pay” attention. It is our rent on reality.

Maybe we are symbiotes, like Judzia Dax, the Trill on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. An old soul in a young body. Maybe the degree of our power from that merge depends on our ability to recognize the parts of ourself which are not the surface genetics we consider our personality.

 

Journal fragment, date unknown

There is a stronger destiny, I feel, than the mundane world we see. The mundane world that has no interest in psi or spirit. It is the illusion of the forest, enchanting us away from what we ‘feel’ when who we are touches the path we walk.

I know of few people who don’t have the sense of ‘impending.’ Who don’t feel that within a dozen years — if that — something fairly significant is going to occur. War… probably. First contact… probably. Probability shift?… probably. Someone knows. Probably many someones. And we all know, at some level of consciousness.

I thought to myself, Maybe it is a form of messianic/paranoic insanity to think such things.

Then someone inside me responded, That is the power of the surface-world to dampen your fire and convince you not just of a different path, but that there is no path at all. That because LOGIC in the cold world of illusion doesn’t support the idea, you must be insane to think such a thing exists.

 

Journal fragment, date unknown

Last night Ry said in the kitchen, following a brief joke about tornados, “I’m not going to die. I’m here for a reason, and I haven’t done what I’m here for yet.” She was perfectly casual about this and continued on what she was doing. Maybe at 8 she is young enough to know. Are we too jaded to hear that from ourselves? Do we have a purpose?

That reminds me that when she was maybe 6?, she was telling me something about her earlier childhood, and she added something casually with a shrug, like, “But I didn’t come here until I was about four.” I said, what do you mean? She said, “I was only dreaming this life until then. It was just a dream. But then I went into the dream and it became real and I was living here, instead. But I wasn’t really here until then.”

 

Journal fragment, date unknown

I met a man (Nestor) who was one of the gifted. He put his hands inside my skin. He gave me energy that saved me and changed my life. He did this for anybody who requested it. He was not a saint. He smoked. He liked beer and Kareoke. He had three kids and was technically catholic. The priests, he told me privately, considered him chosen in some way and felt he should be an example. “Live in a cave in a white robe?” I suggested with a grin, and he laughed yes.

When he touched me that way, I knew he felt me. Psychically. I ‘understood’ during the experience that this was how it ought to be. Health, I mean. But it was more than that. I could feel the ability inside me. It had a huge feel, like something “on the tip of my tongue.” Something that deep on my inside, recognized what he was doing on the outside, and almost, but not quite, made the connection. I had the clear sense that if I could merely stand in his presence while he did this work, for perhaps a few days, that I would get it: that I would be able to do this too; that the “latent ability” was inside me.

It was several years before I realized that the reason he does that work constantly, for all who ask, and seeks it out, and never falters in that, is because he must. Because we forget to remember. Every hour away is a time that a lifetime of habit and culture and perhaps more is pulling us the other way. It requires constant physical, mental and spiritual intent just to keep the connection at its present level. Same with conscious psi I guess.

To grow, perhaps we must “run faster than we can” as the red queen told Alice in ‘Through the Looking Glass’. We must exceed ourselves. We must, in short, become–allow ourselves to become–more than we are at the moment we make the choice. And then we are a little bit more connected. And of course, we are also, just a little, someone new.

 

Journal fragment, July 21, 2002

Archmed on all aspects of my job. The arch was a big white bird. It had a ball & chain around one ankle and an anchor around the other. Boy that’s obvious. I removed both of these but he was still stuck in this thick heavy gooey mess. I got him out and cleaned him and fluffed him and he just flew away! I never had an archetype go away instead of inner guide making it vanish, I didn’t even think I was done.

 

Journal fragment, May 6, 2007

I had a session this morning that was hilariously assumedly offtarget (it was a lizard). But it was amazingly educational, someone in my head showing me how the same pretty complex data about form, dynamic, sequence, relationship, could come through to me in so many totally different ways. It’s my ability to allow it and correctly interpret it that matters. The same data came as people, as ‘biologicals’, in a daydream, in a full-on 3D movie, as ‘geometries’, and as something I can’t explain that managed to be information without being anyTHING, literally demonstrating that we don’t have to perceive something we have no mental model for. We can perceive it objectified as best we can, and perceive the rest in any imaginable way, and still “get it”.

 

Journal fragment, September 26, 2006

Me and another were on a quest to learn/find/become something. A man who was also some other kind of spiritual creature, he came to us and said something like, “OK, if you would learn…” And he slapped down this thing for each of us: small, red, glowing, yucky sorta, that we would need to swallow.

The other person hesitated, but I grabbed it and ingested it as fast as I could before I changed my mind. And it changed me into something completely different. But there were ‘cycles’ of time or motion and with each, I saw more of myself on the surface, until by the end, I was all me again.

After seeing it was safe, the other with me ate theirs, but nothing happened. We both understood… it was too late. The courage was part of it. Because I had succeeded in this, I got to visit “the beautiful one”… some woman.

There was a man who had given up one of his organs (on death) and another man was using it now. The second man was on stage talking to people. The first man (who had given the organ) appeared, and he was a very unusual indigo blue pulsing color to me. He was so fascinated with the man who had received his organ that he wound his way closer to the stage, until suddenly he was right in front of him, so couldn’t be missed. I wondered if this would cause the receiving man to remember something of the others’ life?

Then I was “sitting in on” the experience of the second man on stage. He did finally notice the other man, but what he saw was nothing like what I saw. He didn’t see the pulsing indigo blue color at all. He saw the man except with this symbol like the eyes and mouth seemed “grown over with skin” or sewn shut or both, something weird and scary like that, and he literally passed out! I worried he’d have some kind of heart attack or relapse just from the bizarre shock of it.

 

Journal fragment, August 13, 2007

{This was evening of Ry’s birthday. Earlier that day I had said a prayer to the spider Deva, asking it please to have all its people get out of my house and garage, because we were going to use bug-bombs (mostly for fleas) that would kill anybody left. Ry slept with me. No big deal and I didn’t think about it again.}

I was in a dream with Ry, and while we were in the dream, a spider deva arrived to talk to me.

Ry started to freak out, she’s so afraid of spiders, but she couldn’t helped be soothed by the Deva’s effect: She was BEAUTIFUL. She was on this big web that sparkled like a diamond net in a starry night. It was awe-inspiring. She came closer and closer to us and I was telling Ry, It’s ok. She’s here because I just sent her a message earlier.

After a minute of commune with her I said to Ry, I see. She wants to know WHERE her people should go for safety. I told her to get them out, but not where they should go!

I woke up and remembered the dream, and I hope I got through to her they should be going out to the backyard. I imagined it from every angle above and around and in the house and physically said and pointed, too. Then I told C not to kill any spiders if she saw them in the meantime (on their way out).

 

Journal fragment, April 3, 2008

In a dream, I nearly died and was miraculously saved in some highly improbable situation, at which point, a man appeared. He attracted me, and yet frightened me, as if he were physically powerful yet spiritually cold.

He told me I was the ‘something’, I can’t remember the word, but it was a sort of messianic role.

I didn’t take him seriously. I said with humor, “As long as this doesn’t mean I’ll have to die nailed to something, or be killed in some big focus drama, that’s fine with me!” and laughed.

He didn’t laugh. He said, “Actually, it does.”

I was a little taken aback but I tried to be careless and flippant.

“Man, hate it when that happens!” I said, rolling my eyes and shrugging.

I fell asleep (in the dream) and found myself in a bookstore, browsing. I was looking to find a book that would help me with the issue of the man. “You have to *believe*,” some part of me said. “Like when you’re trying to manifest parking spaces. You have to believe that it’s not only possible but *probable*.” {Sounds like Nero, who often helps in dreams.}

I found an odd looking book and pulled it out. It was missing most the pages but some in back. The front of the book had embedded in its cover this oversized front of a cat’s boney skull, like maybe some kind of wildcat (large). I blew on it to blow the dust off, and a star-shade began to detach. {That is how I perceive spirits-of-dead in remote viewing, as a cross between ‘star’ and ‘shade’.}

I realized a portion of the spirit of the cat had remained with the book, and maybe that was the point of it of course, but I also understood that it deserved to be free, so I kept blowing until it was fully released.

Later (now awake in the dream), I was flying home in a flying machine that was failing. A female teacher I used to have was worried for me, and asked that man to save me, even though she, in her ignorance, didn’t know this man was actually my greatest threat and a scary dude. But he did save me from that, though I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have been ok anyway.

But then he saw the book I had and froze. Demanded to know how on earth I had come by it. I discovered there were only four of these in our whole world and understood he’d been trying to come by it for eons. I also understood there was info in it that would help me, and that related to him, and to whatever I innately ‘was’.

Then my stupid alarm went off.

 

Journal fragment, various dates

I found pieces of several dreams where a child who had tiny, or missing, or deformed, legs (always legs, sometimes body too), a child that was “mostly head”, was being recognized, and we were calling it by some name I understood implied “a living god born on earth” to the East Indians.

 

Journal fragment, June 11, 2008

I wondered, why must be we have bad experience? Why can’t we just learn from good experiences? Apparently this dream was a response to that. Sheesh I was almost sorry I asked!

Entities/aliens arrived at a planet and told the people they could make their lives so much better. They could make it so everyone was happy. And as a bonus, people could regularly (like a vacation) do anything they wanted, like be a rock star, or care for horses, or whatever they would find fulfilling.

Because the people were idiots, the promise of happiness caused them to vote it in. And nearly all of them were promptly removed to what amounted to a gulag. A tiny few were left to care for the tiny part of the planet that the people could still have; all the rest of the planet now belonged to the aliens.

They had a technology that worked remotely, based on frequencies. It It scanned the body and could find negative emotion, which was often paired with memory. And it zapped it. You couldn’t have it for more than a few seconds before it would remove it and any memory it paired with as well.

Once every X period each person in the gulag got to go to the planet and be whatever they wanted to be. Like care for horses for example. The stables were filled with rotting corpses of horses not cared for, because nobody on the planet or visiting could deal with the ‘negative’ stuff that needed to be done. But once someone saw this horror, the memory was removed from them. So when they went ‘home’, they believed and told everyone of the ecstacy and beauty they experienced, because they could only remember the good parts.

On one occasion I watched this young boy fall into the river. A vacationer jumped in to get him out, but the pollution of the river and the stress of the little boy drowning was a negative, so the scanner got her and she forgot what she was doing right in the middle of it and he drowned. The father, who lived locally, was very upset about the death of his boy, but then it zapped his emotion and memory, and someone was pointing out that he had yet another son, so after a few minutes he felt happy enough.

It showed a woman who wanted to be a famous singer, and the camera and screen that was showing her performance was all trashed, beat up and half fake, but the scanner was taking all her negative response right as it happened, and so all she would remember when she went home, were the pieces her mind would sketch or piece together and make new sense of, of the good stuff.

The lesson was that not wanting to feel something negative was the most horrible nightmare imaginable. A people who had made that trade had no idea what they were getting themselves into. They were happy cows after that obviously, but it annihilated what they inherently were and all their potential, and they traded all freedom (and their planet) for this ridiculous, accurate but deadly, promise of “happiness.”

 

Journal fragment, June 17, 2008

In a dream I was traveling and had about a week of layover. I was at a bar in the evening like at a hotel, talking to this man to the left of me. He was telling me that he was on his way to someplace I can’t recall, to visit this man who was some kind of master, shaman or guru, for “soul retrieval”. This guy, he was telling me, was the real deal, and it was all really amazing.

I realized that this was not a coincidence that I’d met him. That I had to come up with a way to get to this man with him, even if it took my last dollar, because nothing was more truly important to my life. I had just made the decision when I woke up.

 

Letter fragment, date unknown, spring 2006 I think

Spontaneous psi isn’t all that common but I usually dismiss it.

One day I was sitting at this contract job making an org flow chart, and as I moved a photo layer over in Illustrator I ‘knew’ utterly that this was the guy who really liked little blonde girls and paid big money to collect child porn his wife didn’t know about. Now that was something I could have done without knowing! I shrugged it off.

Couple days later I was walking to the store down the street of my tiny new town, population less than 900. I was thinking about whether I should mow the lawn or wait another weekend, when a beat up old farm truck (that describes nearly every vehicle there) goes rambling past. As I casually look past it–didn’t even look at the driver closely–I had an intense “ping” on me of “knowing” that he was a Nazi, and I mean the old fashioned kind, part of a formal local group, and really ruthless. I went in the house and told L about this. I shrugged it off, probably imagination, and went out and mowed.

During that just for quirks, L does an internet search and it turns out our tiny little town had a Nazi chapter of its own no less, they’d met weekly at the tiny firehouse half a block away from our house for many many years, until just a few months before we moved in (dunno where they are now). Course that doesn’t prove anything about that guy, except to my gut.

*

Cats must find me. There was the time I called home (from work, an hour away) and insisted to L that I had decided I wanted him to go with me to the shelter right when I got home, and find us a grey tabby female kitten (my fave sort of cat). He says well ok… wait, wait, the dogs are going crazy…. and he goes outside, and the dogs are flipping out over what looked like a drowned rat and turned out to be a grey tabby female kitten (in the rain). I can’t believe they didn’t eat it–I’d seen them swallow huge gophers whole!! –what are the odds, I ask you? No clue where it came from.

L (being a total airhead) actually put the tiny little soaked thing outside the fence where the dogs couldn’t get it and tried to leave. It wailed pitifully until he went back and brought it in. He didn’t realize until he got it dry that it was a grey tabby girl, about 7-8 weeks old. He named her Rene, for Descartes, as she would stand on his shoulder.

*

One time in Seattle, L never would shut the door right, and I had the baby in my arms, and sure enough the storm blows freezing mud-rain into the house, wakes up the baby, and nearly gives me a heart attack happening suddenly at 4am or so. I put the baby down, stomp to the door just enraged, and I push the door shut and just as it shuts and I am moving away, fury overtakes me (this thing with the door had happened so many times!), and I whirled around and hissed loudly at the door, flinging my fingre out in a point at it, “I OUGHTTA NAIL THAT F—ING DOOR *SHUT*!!”

I felt better, and I picked up the baby and that was that. Except later when L went to open the door to go take a smoke, he realized… he couldn’t. The door wouldn’t open. I hadn’t even touched the knob, nor did I slam it–I pushed it shut on the wood a couple feet higher than the knob and I had shut it normally. It was about 2 seconds after that, when I was a few steps away, that the rage hit me. He flat out could not get the door open AT ALL. It took three days and finally tearing the entire doorknob out (and going out the window to work on the other side from the balcony) in order to get the door open. There was no visible reason why. It was inexplicable.

*

There was one time I was in Oregon, sleeping on the floor at a friends’ house. I was SO exhausted, having driven through the night. It was early morning, and I was on the 2nd story. Someone in the parking lot below was trying to start a car over and over, but it wouldn’t start. I was ~50-60% asleep. It kept up, very noisy, then I was about 30-40% asleep.

Then I just accepted, as I was half in the dreamy mode so not being very critical, that I ‘understood’ that the driver was a young man, that he was going to be late for work if it didn’t start, that his boss had told him if he was late one more time he’d be fired, and he so sincerely and desperately was doing his best, but his stupid old car wouldn’t start. I could FEEL his feelings of desperation and nearly crying in frustration. He would crank the ignition and it would do that nyuh-nyuh-nyuh-nyuh sound for awhile and then he’d let it rest briefly.

Finally, I felt compassion for him, and in dream-logic (but with my body), I just reached up with my right arm and stabbed my finger into the air abruptly and ‘started it’ at the far point of the finger, like BAM! —No big deal. I was enough in dream to believe I could, but enough awake to be physically moving and acting on stuff in my reality. It started the instant I intended it to, and I dropped my arm down to the blanket and sighed in relief, but “felt” him feeling this UTTER astonishment–he hadn’t even been trying to start it at that point! It just started itself! I grinned at that, at how funny it struck me that I could feel he was so freaked out, but I was SO weary, so I turned over and went back to sleep, and that was that.


Journal fragment, June 2008

Gosh I had a bad sleep experience last night. First, I kept slowing down to nearly stopping in my breathing, which is normal, I breathe shallowly. But when I haven’t breathed for awhile, and my oxygen level for the heart/brain starts getting critical, my body brings me closer to the surface of waking and goes ‘breathe!!’ and I take a deep breath. That’s normal.

Except last night when I tried, I couldn’t. It was literally like there was this pressure on my chest or lungs, so that when I finally needed to take a breath desperately, suddenly it was against me doing so. This happened repeatedly, while my body gave me instant dreams to try and help me, insisting that I breathe right NOW and take a DEEP breath. Weirdly, I was lucid enough to understand exactly what was going on, but my body was still mostly asleep.

I finally woke up, went back to sleep, and it happened again! Except the second time I woke up, after a lot of this, I felt like it was *personal.* Like it wasn’t some inexplicable body thing, but that some person, individual, was actually attempting to target me at a moment matching that ‘sleep apnea during sleep critical oxygen need’ moment, and try to stop me getting the O2. I would die in my sleep, it would be ruled a heart attack.

I felt this so strongly, no matter how completely irrational and paranoid that is, that I determined to order a gel sleep apnea mask today online and start wearing the damn machine.

{This happened many more times for about a week. Then it changed and happened but differently for another week, and that continued, diff approach for a week each, for about a month, then it stopped for awhile, then picked up again, then stopped again.}

P