I have always had a resonance with Dr. Manhattan, the Indric-tinted avatar of the Watchmen series by Allan Moore. A being embodied in the
awareness of it’s own akahic thread/ Ablet o perceive the subtleties of the substrata of What Is? Possessed of a tremendous influence yet naive to the human condition? I can relate.
On the Journey Home, this was a stabilzing point for me in my aspiration to understand the nature of my lens of Self and it’s purpose in the Incarnate plane. Like so many other avatars of the siddhic virtues, Dr. Manhattan’s symbol through the modern hieroglyph appeared to me as made of subtle energies made of the substance of their own symbolism. Not a symbol at all, to me, but the embodiment of the thing Seen without it’s mask.
There is a majesty in this. Yet there has also been simultaneously a coldness, or rather a neutrality, demenaded to sharp contrast by the intensity of the passion of being human. There have been many realms of being along the Path in which the very concept of ‘being human’ was insubstantial. Where the arrangements of form that produced particular vantages simply were not present within my intrinsic field.
It is beautiful to witness that while the fundamental of our Akashic thread is constant, the clarity of our awareness of it changes, producing the effect of movement across the tapestry of spacetime. There was a moment on the Quest where I perused Watchmen once again, drawing prana from the invocation. One line caught my eye.
”You’ve arrived John. – Silk Speectre
Have I? I feel like i’ve always been here.” – Dr. Manhattan
Such a beautiful wielding through the gravity of Allan Moore’s vantage. Such sang to me of the nature of realms of being themselves, the deep undestanding that when we exist in a particular condition, the tendency can be not to recognize any other condition existed, or has ever existed. It was the nature of being within a viewpoint, a thing I witnessed created by the substance or arrangement of the graity that gave rise to that Self.
I recall a moment on the Journey Home when I helped escort fellow siddhic avatar Shanti to the Vedic City, a towne of meditators occurring in Fairfield, Iowa. In context, I was deepening into the direct perception that there is, in fact, no separation, that we are all aspects of the same unified whole. As this was occurring my way of interfacing with the causal planes and their healing was evolving.
Dealing with Shanti was very difficult. While a deeply committed sadhu choosing to renounce almost all aspects of the material plane, his aspect occurred for me as under tremendous pressure, constantly invoking penances and other old-paradigm ways of clearing the Self. There was a constancy of manner of being which was agitated, and thus giving off that vibration into the field.
At one point in our journey to the Vedic City, I was fed up. I opened the back hatch of my truck, pulled out his meager cardboard box of foodstuffs and demanded that he get out, take his gear, and that I was done with his nonsense.
It was in this moment that a vision came to me, a clarity on the Akashic threads of our unfolding diorama in the mortal plane. I saw, from a distance, the events playing out, witnessing what ‘Peter’ and what ‘Shanti’ were conversing about, the opening of the truck, the grabbing of his box, as if I were watching a movie I had already seen. In which events were simply unfolding as they were meant to. In such revelation I saw the Perfection, the mortal movie simply playing out it’s predetermined plot.
There is great understanding in this. The deva within me saw this, the elemental substance and physics of the Creation. Yet it is the human aspect which has learned to Love it. To appreciate the marrriage of Love and Law. Such is a beauteous merging of the discernment of the thing with it’s redeemed relationship. To see the structure while hearing the Song.
This is poetry to me. The place where the threadlines of the Akasha undulate with the potency of the Self, where I see the gravity of a beings manifestation in the much larger Glory of it’s context, noble Seeers on the road to their own remembrance across a canvas of Awakening.
To witness such a thing is a Wonder. For it is the very nature of Story, Herself.
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