WITNESS PROTECTION
Witness protection is not the correct title for the condition I find myself in. It is far more like self-induced exile. That in itself is not quite right either, since if it was fully self-induced, I would have the option to go back. I will attempt to explain.
Reality, heaven, hell, parallel universes – they are all the same thing, only looked at from different angles. It is like a square that becomes a cube and yet as it turns it adds dimension after dimension. There is a video that I watched online once that showed this very well. How does a man change the angle so that he sees more than just the plane he is on? Dreams, drugs, trances… there are various ways that shift your awareness of the overlaying truths that might seem to contradict each other, but, in fact, complement each other. In such a state one might see something and act on it and do so in a way that certain sects do not approve of.
If only one way of being enlightened to this was to be found, that one way might be undone, or worse, the knowledge of how to shift things would “fall into the wrong hands.” Not that those bastards have hands, but you get the idea.
Luckily for those who might find themselves forced to leave, having been caught in a situation where they were so unfortunate as to have seen what dark forces do, there is what is referred to as trans-location, aka, witness protection. It will be painless, they said. It will an adventure, they said. It will give you an entirely new way to see things, they said. They also presented a few warnings. Try not to remember, don’t fight it, and most of all keep a low key. If you happen to remember, ignore it. If you fight this new life, you will not only make yourself ill, you will most likely be rather unhappy, with a chance of mental illness. Lovely.
How this works is they scatter your energy and redirect it to a suitable fetus and VOILA! you’re a new person. Most forget the past quite easily in this stage, work through issues, and are born a fresh little person in a fresh little body. However, sometimes this fails to be the case. In this world, when that happens, some get labels and prescription drugs to deal with the sense of overall unhappiness and the all-encompassing feeling that everything is wrong. Many turn to non-prescription drugs, be they legal or not. There are a few drugs in this world that realign energies and the perception of the ever-spinning cube and help to correct this soul-crushing feeling, but these are all either illegal or have been eradicated.
When you step though the portal into this new life you are told: ‘Not all worlds are created equal.’ There is one planet out there that was at one time used by a sect of holy men to retreat to in order to study and meditate on creation. What was once a sanctuary was later turned into a penal colony and is always an option if anything goes wrong and your soul is cast free into the wind. You never know where you will end up, what species you will be, or even what gender.
Now this world is a tangled mess of advanced souls of peace and insight, as well as creatures so full of hatred and greed they literally reek. These creatures delight in deception, in causing pain to others and punishing the world they were exiled to, as well as punishing those those who happen to care for her. If you have any doubts, look at the history of war and pain on this stunning little planet.They also love money. It is as real a magic as any and in this place where magic is all but destroyed and locked away, it is the best they can manage.
These souls were sent to this world with their memories intact so they could learn from the wise and holy ones here, but the idea was flawed. They simply used what they knew to mask themselves as gods, convincing a native people of their claims of godhood, implementing government and money. What a tragic crime. So many lifetimes past and still their descendants rule the world, their money system enslaves all peoples, and war never stops. I could go on for days about this, but that is enough of that topic.
Needless to say, I am one of the few who remembers. Not all of it, not so much I can map out my home city, nor name my favorite dog, but I know the smell of the kitchen. I can hear the waterfall in the back garden. I can hear my children playing in the next room. I can almost hear the sound of my wife’s voice. I can feel the texture of fabric on the arm of my chair and the pages of my books, and yet I open my eyes and here I am. It all fades away like a puff of cigarette smoke on the wind. The smell lingers, but the vision is gone.
This world makes me sick. I do not mean that like a depressed goth rocker, but exactly as it sounds. Everything from the perfume people wear to most all the food they eat. I dare not simply open myself up to Gaia, as in her desperation to save the blessed and herself, she is too excited. If I am not able to regulate such power, I will simply combust into flame or suffer a brain aneurysm. There are not many wizards in this world and fewer who have not been “seduced by the darkside.” So here I am. A wizard alone in a world where I must keep low key, ever-inflicted by chronic illness with no real source, unable to eat most foods or be in any of the cities at the risk of killing myself.
However, the Raven, Muggin I call him, (he likes it and was rather flattered by it), suggested I keep a blog. Perhaps in the complex energies that are Creation, somehow it might reach through to those I miss so deeply and somehow make this world a little easier to bear.
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MONSTERS UNDER THE BED
“I’m bored” seems to be the dreaded lament of children. Parents pull their hair out and grow short-tempered with this cry without a moment of asking why. Children, all people, are born to be creative and active. It is part of our souls. No one is born with the instinct to sit and do nothing. We are taught to be couch potatoes: “Sit still, quit moving, don’t run in the house…” so on and so forth goes the anthem of destruction.
Ever demanding the body to sit at a desk, to not jump on the couch, to behave is utterly devastating to the energy matrix. In a world full of electrical and radio signals, children are desperate to find their own energy signature and the more they must conform, the farther off that pattern goes. Oh, dear children, run, leap, and kick! Jump from the picnic table, shriek like banshees as you spin in wild circles, roll down the hill only to jump into a puddle. Find your center! Find yourself! Find your voice!
And parents, when you hear a child moan “I’m bored”… pause. Try to recall that feeling in your gut. It presses on your heart and stomach like a heavy grey cloud. It turns into depression, into sluggish discomfort. It creeps up on you as an adult, but you turn the TV up louder, you switch the radio station, you fight with your spouse, light up another cigarette, grab the bottle of vodka… anything… anything to not feel that way.
Perhaps, yes, today I seem a bit preachy, but my God! I was dragged along with a friend into the pit of misery called Wal-Mart and all around me I see the chaos, hear the screaming, and feel the pain. You cannot imagine the nightmare it is to watch parents crush a child’s desperate, painful, and sacred connection to this planet. Oh, feed them more sugar, it’s a child’s heroin after all, eat more crap food, fill your carts with more cheap trash to toss away when it no longer keeps out the monsters.
The question screams to be answered: what is this grey weight that makes toxic junk food taste better than a meal of fresh real foods? What is this creeping darkness that children call boredom and adults drug out, drown out, or drink away? It is your inherent connection to a loving earth. Gaia is in pain and suffering. She is calling out to any who can hear her. Children tend to hear her better because they do not have the freedom to block her out the way adults have learned.
When your children whine of the discomfort and distress they feel the moment they are not exhausted, don’t sign them up for another camp. Don’t make them go play some organized sport. Stop whatever it is you are doing and listen to your own heart and remember. Take that child by the hand. They are seeking your aid and protection from something so vast they cannot possibly have the words to begin to understand or explain why they are so unhappy.
See Gaia in their eyes, look through to that lonely and scared planet that is trying so hard to keep up all alive despite the crimes against her. Find a way to help her. Go to the roadside or river bank and pick up garbage. Go to the homeless shelter and ask what they need, then find a way to gather it. Mow the lawn for someone who is unable, plant flowers for the little old lady who no longer can make it outside. This is what your child needs, and this is what you need. Maybe this won’t save the world. Maybe it could, but that is not the point. The point is to say, “Yes, child of mine, I hear you. Yes, child that I am, I hear you. Yes, Gaia, I hear you.”
When you feel that slinking weight crawling up your back, whispering under the bed, denying you the ability to sleep, peeking from the cracked open closet door… be still. Allow yourself to feel it, accept it as not your own fear and pain – it is the planet herself. She is not a raging mother dragon. She is a delicate-boned ten-year-old girl beaten, raped, and weeping. So turn the TV up, yell at your children to “go play,” and take another drink… or… turn it off. All of it, the phone, the TV, the radio, all of it. Sit on the edge of your bed, grip your pillow in your arms and weep with her, assure her she is not alone and that you hear.
There are monsters under the bed. They can haunt you and hurt you, or you can welcome them into the bed with you, wrap your arms around them and hold them close until they feel safe, are healed, and become your guardians.