The field always informs us. Always reflects back what processes are moving through the ethers of the self. It’s just a matter of divining them properly. Of seeing beneath the surface of what things appear to be, into the substance of our shared unfoldment.
I wake up in Carnia. I’m still moving towards a new realm of working with my own vital energies, and I’m reflecting on how such things are reflecting back to me from the field – how the people, places and events that I am encountering are informing me.
Like all aspects of the journey, there’s a gradual divination going on. A sense of growing coherence, of what the Mythica is wanting to be, the seed of Divine information that is moving through me onto the printed page (so to speak). As I write this, I reflect on the potencies already occurring throughout the day.
As I am making my way to the library to continue the forging of the yoga of story, Alaya Love contacts me. She asks what I’m doing in Encinitas, and I respond by saying that I am still in Carnia and gradually making my way to the Commonwealth, building out courses with the newfound coherence post-“Magi on the Mountain”.
She then offers unasked for advice, relative to a “download” she had during our last encounter. So it’s known, (as it really sets the context for what’s to come) giving me unasked-for-advice is a cardinal sin. It is going beyond the natural emanation of one’s vibrational essence into the field in a radiant way into a focused movement towards another aspect of the self. Without consent, I consider it an act of mindless violation, presumptuous at it’s core. Above and beyond the fact that is assumes clarity on the part of the speaker, it presumes upon the listener.
It’s not that I miss the Love behind the action. I feel where she’s coming from. What I find lacking is that she doesn’t seem to feel where *I* am coming from with that. It’s a thing with me, for very real reasons.
As a general rule, I request that beings ask before they push their so-called wisdoms upon me. That they do the necessary process to clear their own shadows and distortions and be mindful about what and to whom they are presuming. I prefer that I either ask them, a clear sign of openness on my part, or they, driven by their own agenda of “service”, do me the basic respect of asking for my consent.
But here’s the thing – I wouldn’t have asked her. After so many years of enduring the incoherent propaganda of the people and their personal agendas, I have become wary and mindful, ever-discerning into the relative levels of personal bullshit that saturate the emanations of the people and their “offerings”.
Yet had she not presumed in such a way, the reaction her words brought up in me wouldn’t have happened, and I wouldn’t have the inspiration to write this piece. As always, all things are the unfoldment of the Divine, moving through the various selves in a carousel of shared interactions. In this grant Alaya a certain compassion for her impertinence, for she has arrived as a fellow guardian of Gaia on multiple times on the Quest and has earned my respect. While she breaks protocol with me in presuming, I feel her intentions and assert the general tolerance I have for priestesses and their zealotry about their “downloads”.
Alaya shared with me that she felt that I needed to “love my self enough to manifest more easeful circumstances”. On top of this, she presented that I should forgive my birth family and generally love the various aspects of the self.
This enraged me. More than the initial rudeness of presumption, the idea that I should forgive the aspects of my birth family, to somehow include them in my sense of awareness and care, triggered my primary grievance with the mortal plane – the insistence that I love this purgatory of dim vibration. That I am required to be forgiving and accepting towards the mundane repetitions that make up form itself, demanded to sit within the timeline of the unfoldment and endure the broadcast incoherence across the ethers. That I am squeezed into this human form and forced into a slavery of ritual just to free myself from the chains of it’s very nature. That I must endure the very nature of self itself, including the many ways in which the self in it’s local and collective nature is incoherent, where one feels imprisoned in the demand to be nurturing, loving and accepting of a quagmire of repetitive mundanity.
Of course i’m aware that it’s a “trigger”. Yet my grievance is deeper than this small thing. It is with the necessity fo adjustment itself. With the reality of being born into an Age within the Akasha that is in so much agitation.
Such is a thing that relates directly to my concept-of-self. To the recognition that I am coming into the Self from outside-the-self and now being made of the substance of the ethers of the Self and it’s many mythologies I have grievance with the fact that being incarnate means being demanded to engage in the pedantry of the mortal plane.
I resent it. I always have. On the most fundamental of levels. I resent having to “hold space”. The implication that I am to “love things unconditionally” at the expense of my own desire for depth and connection. That I am demanded to do nigh-endless practices to manifest the abundance that is our shared birthright. At it’s very core, I resent being human. Having a self. Being demanded to come to coherence over the nature of self itself and then somehow generate love and gratitude for what seems like a carnival of agitations.
It has not been about Love for me. Nor about forgiveness, save for the fact that I must forgive in order to clear the agitations from my nervous system as there is no separation. Yet while I Know this, while I have gnosis of this, the reality of being demanded to love the many aspects of the Self does not feel like freedom. It feels like one is placed into a prison of incoherence whose nature makes trauma and difficulty inevitable, where the entirety of the repetitive spiritualities and their dogma is basically learning How to Deal with It with a Smile.
As such, it is not lost on me why an avatar of Divine Motherhood, the living embodiment of my own subconscious aspect, would arrive in the form of Alaya, her mindless disrespect of my boundaries carrying with it the seeds of a genuine necessity of healing, a thing I see clear in the ethers of the Akasha. In this I know that this is a trigger, a necessary electromagnetic process to move beyond the scarcity of Carnia into something that loves and cherishes the endlessly repetitive process of being human. In this sense it is a proof of the physics of the quest, the idea that the right thing arrives in the right form for us to receive the assistance.
Yet while I can appreciate this (because I am forced to), the overall sense is still an annoyance that I have been incarnate into a system where there is incoherence and where everything is about “The Great Work”. It is my sense, and it often has been, that the mortals of this plane, the unrealized incarnates are so lost in incoherence, so driven “to make things feel better” that they cannot see the most basic thing, that mortal life itself is a repetition, that these movements back and forth are just the elements, and that the very definition of being incarnate is to be in bondage.
Sigh. I breathe out. Once again, I submit to God’s Will because I have no other choice. Once again, I take what comes to me in the form of Alaya representing the Divine Mother and that sense of inclusive nurturing of children that defines her current Character, I take what David represents in his mystic and martial approach, I take what Paradox embodies in his dedication to the authenticity of the Work and I allow them in, allowing them to penetrate me, to move through the subconscious resistances and grievances I have with the idiotic repetitions and Divine timeline that defines the mortal plane and it’s carousel of calamities and settle.
I remind myself. This is WHY God created me. This is why I was incarnated into this place to be a part of the transformation. On a certain transcarnate level, I know my grievance is simply the shape of my ego and the unresolved shadow traumas within it’s nervous system, the agitation defined in relationship to the “bliss” of being alive spoken about in the mythos of yogic lore. Yet while I am aware of this thing, there is resentment. Things that must be processed. That require MORE repetitive practices of “cultivation” in order to break free of the very substance of the mortal coil and it’s repetitions.
It becomes very clear. I see the reflection, the various aspects of the Self, that shared dharmic gravity between us and it’s mythology, all impermanences in the field. All the current vogue, the pantheon of presenters reflecting back and forth between each other in a mirrormask of endless self-inquiry. In this sense I feel the mythos of it, and consider the ever-important question – What practice must I do to transform my inner world and thus move into a new realm along the World Tree?
… I think back on my conversations with Lovewell. What he mentioned to me last night around competition, around a certain martial approach to one’s relationship with the Creation struck me. Like Alaya, he embodies a certain aspect of my own consciousness, and as such our interactions cause a respond in the subtle soma of the ethers, something we both divine on our movement of fellowship and freedom.
David too had offered advice onto my energetics as-he-saw-them from his degree of discernment. For a moment, I had felt my hackles raise, yet unlike Alaya and her arrogance of assertion I had given David direct permission, offering a recognition of the aspect of wisdom that moves through him.
Of course, in this I was wary, for beings ALWAYS believe what they are perceiving in the field has discernment. Nonetheless, what David presented to me had merit, and I felt the response from my own body as we hovered around the Aka of Value and Production. He mentioned that we had opened the space with the idea of a certain kind of productivity, and as it appeared in the field I yielded to it’s shape for such is proper with the context of my willingness to receive him. There was something there, and I could feel it. Something that had only just recently become more coherent after the events of “Magi on the Mountain”, where I had felt myself gradually align with my causal will.
It had been about 4 weeks since then, though I estimate, time in the mortal plane is a bit strange for me, always has been. In that time, I had come to a coherence hither-for unknown, and had put together the new Mythica, the Academy and the Akasha Yoga site. Things were moving. I was transforming. Shifting across the octaves of the rainbow bridge. As this was happening, I was and am becoming clearer, ever-clearer over the nature of the incarnate plane and it’s ritual of repetitions. I feel my angelic aspect finally coming to ground, the minutia of resolutions pulsing through my subtle and causal body in a wash of changing light.
Seen at such vantage, the appearance of David, of Paradox and Alaya are see as what they are, fellow droplets in the wash of the ethers, all radiating their own transmission of the Divine Word, reflecting back and forth in a web of shared synchronicities of self. Each has merit. Each embodies it’s own aspect of the Divine, the quality of consciousness that is being their character. For Alaya, it’s the Divine Mother. For David, for Paradox, it’s something else. For Peter it’s something else.
There is confluence in this. A sense of movement through the Akasphere,in the elemental primes that underlay the various mythologies of the subtle world. A feeling of gradual resolution, meeting each other in a mythos of shared unfoldment.
Tomoko & the Library
After the interaction with Tomoko I feel a sense of cooling. A softening towards the trigger of my relationship with the mortal plane. My sense of indignation at having to endure the repetitions, at the feeling of indentured servitude.
I know it is simply a state. That it is merely a shape of the ego, of the trials and traumas that have formed Peter’s character. There is the recognition that my character is playing out that which is shared with Paradox, with Lovewell, with Alaya and others in a constellation of dharmic gravity. I do not begrudge Alaya for her insolence, for my very perception of that thing feels warped by my self’s own resolving shadows around the Aka of the Mother and my own disappointments with the emotional ineptitude of my birth family. It is a thing I see in the ethers of the Akasha, in the fabric of what has been my self-definition, and gird myself for a round of forgiveness and acceptance, not simply of the immediate aspects along my timeline but for the dirge of rituals that are required to bring the human condition into balance during this Age of delusion.
… as the day closes, I consider the magic of journaling. Where underneath I see my own emotional timbre. How much I have hated the mortal plane at it’s very core. How deep the resentment has been at the very nature of the patterns of this place. How I have found so much frustration in the amount of effort it has taken to get to the most basic aspects of the Commonwealth. I feel the essence of it, the emotional tone beneath. The rebellion. The resistance to What Is. I feel it, my lack of Love with the many aspects of the self, and breathe, reminding myself again, through yet another repetition of changing mood and manner, that such is the process, that I am not bound to this agitation with the earth plane, to this way of relating with the worlds. I remind myself that there is a way to be more Loving towards the dimness, the confusion, and sheer necessity of doing practices to correct the fundamental error of being.
yah. It’s not-loving it. And the question of strategy becomes, is that not-loving, not-forgiving creating the blockage in my field towards the groundedness in the Commonwealth? Is there a thorn-as-yet-unpulled, something that resists the connection to the human plane? That wishes to stay apart from the human family and it’s waltz of confusion? I am unsure. I only feel the anger. The outrage at being confined into this triage of an Age. Yet simultaneous I recognize that my efforts, that the quality of devic awareness that manifests through me is necessary, that everything I have gone through in the mortal plane has been a vessel for this contemporary yoga, one that understands the minutia of process that defines what it means to be God-being-human, moved and moving through a constant alchemy of becoming … demanded to achieve the alkalinity of relationship with the agitated waters and be a beacon of remembrance.
I look again at what Alaya wrote me. It is kind, it is loving and sweet. Believing in me. Suggesting the ideal of it’s Aka, which any aspect of the pantheon would. Softened by the dusk and twilight, I find myself softening, witnessing the shift in my self as it moves to a new location in the underlands.
Gods the mortal plane is annoying. The shift between realms, between emotional and psychic states, the constant divinations and expressions, all changing. All changing all the time.
I am not the self that I was when I wrote earlier. My elements have changed, and a dusk sits upon my eyes.
I sigh. It is this thing, this movement itself between states of being, that is my grand frustration, for such is the epicenter of reality itself. The shift between locus points upon the rainbow road, between the different states of being and the reality they live within. It is from such a place that I look again on the Aka of being human, at the nature of being mortal and the graduating coherence that defines this place and breathe out, doing my best to surrender.
… it’s better than it’s been, I tell myself. I have forged my way from the planes of Delerium herself across the many realms of the Akasha, tasting the fruit of a thousand-thousand worlds. I have made my way from the hills of Shadow, from the driftwoods of forget and forlorn to the planes of excellence, met in camaraderie by the nobles of the Age.
It is a good thing, when I remember. When meditation or medicine brings me back into the Mythica. Into a peaceful coherence of embodiment.
Alaya did the right thing. Hers was the assumption of a Divine Mother, and I respect her aspect in the pantheon. Her embodiment of the Aka of Love is a powerful one, and is without a doubt the place of my own healing, my own coming from the Aka of Clarity into balance, both seeing what is going on in the earth plane and loving it.
Shifting my gaze across the Akasha, I see it. The weave of aka threads involving my birth family and the ripples of rejection, of trauma and response that have echoed out across my timeline. A wash of etheric color moves across the space, and I feel the echoes of emotions, mine and that of my family bleed for a moment, still in the soma, transcendent of the passing time.
There is confluence, in the appearance of Alaya’s Aka in the field, and I witness the movement through my self from angel’s gaze. From a less attached position in the Akasha. Here I see the various archetypical energies of relationship with the mortal plane play out, manifesting through the array of avatars in my vicinity. I see the threads of the pain, the feeling of Family forlorn and betrayed, and how it’s Aka plays out through my self, through Lovewell’s, Paradox, Alaya. A sense of softness, of vulnerability touches on my chest. There’s a feeling, a reminder that this deep wound, this deep sense of distance and mistrust has always been there, and that I am only coming to the next level of awareness of it’s existence. Of it’s manifest presence in the ethers of my manifest world.
Another breath. Another acceptance. I know that I must find love for the distortions everyone endures on this plane. I remind myself that I am almost there. In the place where I may resolve the ancient question of how I will survive in such a place. Where the olde wound, soothed by the long-sought coherence that empowers these words, feels softened, my feet touching the earth in cautious welcome.