As soon as I awaken there is a feeling. One of dropping in. Of breathing the Light of my awareness into my body. As it threatens to leave my consciousness, I make a quick note in this digital journal in effort to hold onto it before the crash of the human plane tears away my memory.
Today’s been hard. The curse really came right up in my face. I wasn’t able to pay a friend of mine whom I dearly honour. Once again, the curse, that subconscious blockage affecting ALL of my manifestations, that which i’ve endured and dealt with this entire lifetime, showed itself.
I thought I would have been able to pay them. Yet, once again, I was blocked. Blocked from even having *access* to what to do or whom to “give service” to. Once again, blocked from knowing how to deliver on the Gift of my healing arts, not to mention the ongoing denial of the delicious and expansive aspects of the human plane.
When the curse hits me, I can’t think clearly. It’s insidiousness prevents me from remembering things, jacknifing my ability to make choices. After all, if I can’t remember, then I can’t make a choice, now can I?
Dealing with it has been part of why I built the Mythica. To provide a series of digital breadcrumbs, remembrances to who I really am, building an array of sacred mirrors in effort to dissolve the distortions in my field.
And it’s helped. Yet not enough, as in the scathing reality of being unable to pay my friend I see the pattern, of how beings have helped me and i’ve been unable to repay them, all due to the inconstant access to inspiration, due to inconstant access to memory, bound by the subconscious chains that have defined my human life.
Rage and shame grip me. I feel helpless. Bound by the patterns within the self. Desperately trying to hold the window of clarity open long enough to build out the Mythica, to get the Light that comes through me in those moments of freedom out to the World. Trapped by my own subconscious, which I feel is fucking me over, and has been for a long time.
Desperate to find some clarity through the haze, I call Evon, who, through some small miracle, is able to talk to me for a few minutes.
”It just keeps happening.” I tell her. “The SAME conditions. The SAME circumstance. The SAME blockages. My access keeps getting blocked.”
”I know. This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation” she says, patient and loving.
”I can’t go on like this. It’s insane. Beings don’t show up, i’ve reached out and been ignored, everything feels blocked. It’s an effort just to hold onto my thoughts, as if something within me is trying to stop me. A subconscious pattern, something.”
“Yes.” She says. “And everyone is going through it. It’s part of understanding what it means to be human.”
“I understand it just fine!” I say.
Sweetly, she responds. “Yes, you do. Yet understanding and acceptance are not the same. You know this.”
And I I feel it. The hatred. The disgust for the human condition. For having to do all these practices simply to have access. For being in these conditions. Rage. Rancor at feeling imprisoned. At feeling denied, and demanded to move through a vessel which was fundamentally splintered upon entry.
“I feel you.” I respond, through gritted teeth. The rage is extreme.
Already i’ve spent a good amount of time literally hitting my self. Feeling trapped and enraged that I was unable to provide the money for my ally. That my attempts to share the Mythica with the people, to even have access to the right ideas, have been blocked. All because of this. All because of the broken splinters inside of my self. Because of the very nature of the human condition.
”It hasn’t been easy for me either” I hear her say through the haze of self-loathing and disgust for what I consider a living prison.
“Many times i’ve been woken up in the middle of the night with something I have to do, some being or presence that needs my attention. I’ve learned use my awareness to accept it, do what needs to be done, and go back to sleep. I used to be up for hours with resistance.
It is so hard to hold onto what she is saying. The agitation is so strong within, I can barely think. Everything is red. Difficult to discern. Yet I try, fighting with my own self to have access to ideas. As I feel into the akasha as best I can through the walls of the prison, I sense how the many aspects of the self in the form of the Galactic and the “community” are all connected through the threads of aka. How they can’t show up as this pattern remains within my own being.
It doesn’t help. Feeling-images of others enjoying the tantras, the connections, the sensuality and resonance while I have been denied for *decades* burn through me.
I breathe in, still incandescently enraged that I am STILL in this position. *Still* having to do more inner process while forgetting that I have to do it. That I must forge my way through this purgatory of a plane. More than anything I just want to give and receive, to share the resonance and expansion. To be in the flushness, connecting with others and opening together. To deliver the Light.
“I know it’s hard.” She says. “And yet, your higher self chose this for a reason”.
”Did it? Does that even exist? Or are we just puppets of unfoldment?” I say.
Choice, the idea of Free Will, has been a huge debate beween Evon and I. Having come from a lifetime of being unable to even remember myself until the clouds of the prison parted for a time, I lean in the direction that we have no free will. That everything unfolds in the timing that it does, and that while there is a *moment* when we’re able to make decisions and choices, before that time we’re bound by subconscious patterns within our self and the larger collective.
”You know i’ve always hated this.”
“Yes. Ever since i’ve known you at the Academy. You’ve hated it.”
”Who wouldn’t? To be denied? To be saddled with this janitor job of consciousness?”
”Mmm … ‘saddled’ doesn’t sound like you’re taking responsibility for it.” She says.
”I take responsibility for it just fine. I HAVE to. I’m FORCED to deal with it in this fucking body. In this filthy gulag.”
”I know sweetie. Yet, feel the energy underneath. It’s not accepting it.”
”And is that what you’re feeling is the issue? Acceptance? Surrender into MORE process?”
I can feel her etheric shrug. “Yes. I’m sorry, I know it’s not what you might want to hear, but that’s what’s coming through.”
I unclench my teeth. Consciously. A part of me wishes it could step outside of the self and beat the body to death in vengeance for having to endure this.
”It’s okay.” I say. “I wouldn’t have reached out to you if I was able to see the answer myself. I just …. I just want it to stop. I came here to help.”
”And you took on a Big mission.”
“I know.. I just want it to change and i’m not sure what to do. You say surrender, so i’ll work on that. On accepting the prison some more.”
About an hour later, Jaclyn (the Akashic Angel) comes over. We had intended to do a photo shoot, yet I find myself wishing to open that liminal space with her, hoping that our shared luminance will reveal more of what I cannot see on my own due to the prison within.
I don’t feel like sharing the dialogue on that. Suffice to say, amidst a bunch of sensory explorations into the akasha she reflects back the same thing.
”Surrender” she says. “It feels like surrender.”
Yet i’m not sure what kind of surrender. Am I surrendering to doing MORE process? MORE forgiveness? MORE acceptance of this shithole reality? More acceptance of being lonely, isolated, unreceived and misunderstood? More acceptance of the scarcitiesi of Love and basic monies to live? Surrender to the madness which has constantly tortured me across this lifetime?
She doesn’t have an answer, and I don’t expect her to. Between her luminance and that of Evon’s, I See, at least a bit more clearly, through the haze of the prison. I recall again how Yeshua’s presence in the field and his ardent inner process has been the reminder to my own self, the embodiment of the practices of acceptance and devotion (I almost choke on bile writing the word) to this thing, this filthy reality and what I am forced to do to exist within it.
My head hurts. Burns with rage. Still hurting from the many times I struck myself throughout the day in that hatred. The deep wish I could destroy the self and thus free my awareness from the prison made manifest.
I go upstairs, and do MORE process. More acceptance and forgiveness. I even record the bits of it in an effort to defeat the prison of forget.
As I lay back to rest for the evening, I share this with You, my faithful Readers –
I love Peter. My self. He is one of the most talened, amazing beings I have ever met. I appreciate his vast magics *when* I am able to access them through the lens of akasha that is his form.
At the same time, I hate him. I hate being burdened with these chains and being demanded to break free of them, recognzing that they are the very nature of the human condition at this time. I hate, and I mean *HATE* having to do so much forgiveness, so much acceptance, so much process simply to have access.
What Jaclyn does not know but Evon does is that I have been dealing with this thing for a lifetime. Feeling trapped inside my own consciousness. That I have done the best I could as a newcomer to this plane, building out an entire temple of Remembrance as a boddhisatvic act for the people. That I have asked allies to work with me, only to be denied over and over again and demanded to feel out what *internal* thing is going on, on top of the other thousands of internal things i’ve been demanded to deal with that is preventing it from happening.
It hurts. And while I DO appreciate and marvel at the majesty of the Mythica and the vast, vast accomplishments i’ve made in shattering the chains of the prison of the self so that I could actually *enjoy* human life, I have not yet gotten the results i’ve wanted, despite my bright intentions. And so, enraged at the self, feeling unmet by the so-called ‘community’ my head pounding with grievance towards the very nature of the material plane at this time, I crawl up into the bedroom, pull my head under the covers and sleep, invoking a litany of ‘I surrender’ in effort to at least have enough access and remembrance to do the repetitive process that is the sorrow of the human condition.
Characters Appearing in this Episode
Evon Eisenberg (The Lady Ash) – @ladyash
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