TRANSFORMATIONS (John Dan Reib, 1976)
By John Dan Reib (1940-1993)
This Book is dedicated to:
R. Buckminister Fuller
My love for what they are doing is beyond words.
Copyright 2001 Edward Charles Reib
I saw the rainbow starsky. Not with my earth eyes, with my brainfire that is itself a star. Deep lightspears faceting from suns and stars and darkblue space dancing through high mountain air.
I rose a lightcloud of no particular shape toward the skyhome above green earthmountains, and the cities rock-frozen, flesh-frozen. And suddenly it was all white light. They came from the white light to me in the white light. They messaged my lives to me, and the paths I had walked and would walk.
They messaged love in rainbows and dark music lightshattering skyfoam, like space soap. The sky was orange; then deep blue, and the mountains were beneath me.
Flesh people often call them saints and devils and gods. I call them friends. They messaged voices and tastes and smells and images and worlds and words and screeching sounds and the songs of The Great Whales in the sea, our Brothers and Sisters.
Coming back to the fleshplace is like walking through a roar of devouring electric teeth windtunneling, eggbeatering, vortexing. And the stars whirl down; and the yellow light and white light make whirligig rainbows that turn grey and cloudy, even almost smoky, in nightbed darkness. And my fleshplace, the body, is below me. I take its shape. I become its shape. I pretend dreams, and create plots and people them with problems and confusions, intrusions, conflicts, resolutions. It all becomes very intense and totally significant beyond words as I experience it and wake reluctantly up at 5:30 in the ay-em to some talkshow on the radio, exchanging make-wrongs and playing "ain't-it-awful": and blaming Nixon, Ford, Uncle Ho, Mao, Castro, religion, no-religion, with no viable solution or taking of responsibility evident.
It's so sane in the white light: They message so much; I message so much.
Back here, in the fleshplace, in the meathead brain that aches, I hear the betabody chattering, trying to give my soul significance and label it, making it supermarket available and palpable, even palatable. Weird wired make-wrongers on the radio cranking out hanged-man's hope and despair for the fleshplace fearjunkies driving cars with smog chokers, complaining about pollution and natural resources dwindling; and demanding, at the same time, their rights to drive around in cars that seat two and a half, burn petrol like it will always be there in 400-horse engines, on oversized tires; all of which takes about twelve tons of the finest Appalachian coal or its equivalent per unit to build, and can set the Cuyahoga River on fire at any time.
I get dressed, wandering through the haze of consciousness here, to organize my awareness of the exactly-how this world operates in comparison and contrast to all the others I'm used to. When I stop worrying, I remember and forget where I put my glasses the night before, and cuss around the house waking the others and allowing them to think that being human is an only.
Flesh is inconvenient. Too much convenience is supposed to be boring. Anyhow, a lot of us are junkeyed on being here time and time again. It takes little wandering around and listening, even less reading, even less standing and watching to see how many people who never think to ask out-loud put reasons here for us to get stuck here.
Here in the flesh, they keep you, at any rate, by fascinating you with contrasts, such as amusement and boredom, and the sensory differentiation between experiences which you get to label painful and pleasurable, and find others to agree and disagree with you on exactly what is painable and pleasureful. All of which gives you opportunities to confuse the painable with the pleasureful and make lifetastes which taste as different or the same as somebody else. And you get to make friends and enemies, breaking up the texture of the white light into egos and nations and states and cities and football teams and people who drive cars and people who beg carrying their children in wheelbarrows or on their backs, for whom you have a variety of options about how to feel -- somewhere between something they call here guilt and something else they call contempt, and something else they call sorrow, and something a bit more they call caring, and something they label the opposite of that they call not caring.
Sometimes, you even get to think that your brain understands it. What really makes it entangling is when what you think is your understanding in the brain makes you talk and act in a way that pleases you and makes others give you agreement. Then, you get to think you're winning and you really have it beat; and you may be in a life-form in something they call here a country, in something else they think is real and label a time, like a year counted after the guessed-at death and return of someone they refer to (most often unconsciously) as the personification of the Christ and call it 1976; and the country might be something called by general agreement in a language which has split from other babblings omoebalike and come to be called English, the United States. You might even get to live in something else they in the fleshplace call a city, and be given lots of agreement in a form they call being wealthy, and do some things they label "the good life" or "the sweet life"; and then not enjoy it.
I return to the white light very often. I cannot message to you exactly in noises or the print that makes itself significant by agreement predicated upon the replication of noises with agreed-upon significance. Messaging is something you cannot effort to remember how to do, because you already know inside you and outside you how to do it. It takes falling into or jumping through, and it is delightful to do it and not get put into the place the flesh-place fearjunkies call the madhouse. Unless, of course, you're one of the ones who find delight in being a denizen of the padded cell or a tid-bit for the shocking coil.
I suppose it would be of interest to you, my other Being-parts, who find delight in walking to and fro in the fleshplace gathering agreement harmony harvests instead of incarceration-gruel, to know how to message and stay free, as we here like to call it -- you and I -- and not get incarcerated. I shall create spaces in words for you to find for lifedancing.
Keeping the order of the confusion here is a game that keeps you free. The ones who get incarcerate are the ones who get stuck on seeing what they see and need to get the agreement of others that what they see there is as significant or more than what the fleshplace has to offer. Some of these reach the madhouse because what they say is too logical, and some because what they say is too illogical. Give the fleshplace fearjunkies here space to create the feeling of having agreement, by assent and image and nod and playing in their passtimes and earning your daily foodstuffs and looking respectable. If you want to walk back and forth in the fleshplace, this is keeping the order of the confusion.
The more agreement you desire in the fleshplace, the more you will have to make your assents, images, and nods give those trapped here kinds of assistance they can accept and want. When you put this into practice, you can walk to and fro in all worlds, and take the messagings from the white light to make rainbows of possibilities for those here.
If you journey to the places beyond the fleshplace, and you need to get agreement from those trapped here that your journeys are real, and you infringe upon their territory by trying to get them to believe you, then they will incarcerate you as a mad one; and you may make yourself mad. When you do this, you are doubting that you go to the other places. Either that, or you are starstruck by re-remembering and by the fact that it is so obvious and easy that anyone could do it and know of it and come back to tell of it.
This is the time to remember that those who are trapped in the fleshplace are children playing hide and seek from their Being awareness. They know, and have pretended that they have forgotten that they know, till they actually have dizzied themselves and locked tight in their fleshplace ego-cocoons. It is, for practical purposes here, as if they have really forgotten that they know.
You and I get to keep in mind, if we would sustain freedom here and freedom in the elsewheres, that those fleshplace fearjunkys who play hide and seek (as we have before and appear to now) do so in a time continuum that can last many lifetimes. You and I know that it is now Kali-Yuga o'clock. They don't want to look at the cosmosclock. They don't want to look at or remember the Agreements, they'd rather bang into them the hard way again and again. We know the Agreements are obvious. They would rather not bother with remembering that: A wise one asked the morons, "Why do you keep banging your head against the Agreements?" The morons chorused back, "Because it feels so good when we stop."
Morons and Kali-Yuga o'clock are those who've created forgetting how to stop.
Should we, you and I, tell them ever about the rings of fire? Should we, you and I, tell them how to see eggs dancing on the street? Should we, you and I, tell them that the river of death is a wide river between a desert and a forest, and that when one walks through the wall to the other side, one sees the river between the desert and the forest?
Why should we bother?
They already know.
The cycle is complete.
The fiery ones were here as always last night. So were fleshplace visitors. The fleshplace visitors complained of a chill in the room and the heat was on. They verified that for themselves. They asked to hear records of meditation chanting from Tibet and glimmered with curiosity, entrenched in pretending that Tibet is someplace different from here and there, and entrenched, likewise, in forgetting that they had lived there about seven hundred of what they call years ago.
The fiery ones are really gentle and patient. I know that they look in on us for their reasons. I know what those reasons are. You know what those reasons are. The others also know, and want to pretend they don't know a bit more. Hide and seek is not fun in and of itself, they infest fun in hide and seek.
The fun-investments of fleshplace fearjunkey hide-and-seekers lead them, from need to escape monotony, into creating contrasts which they enjoy not enjoying. Their capacity for creating what they call tragedy, significance, and violence appears at times virtually inexhaustible, doesn't it?
The thing is that the cycle of their experience is complete, and it is limited; even as the exercise wheel of a hamster is complete and limited. Hamsters are simple in their needs, fleshplace fearjunkeys more complicated. Nevertheless, hamsters and fleshplace fearjunkeys both come from need.
The thing is that sometimes you and I almost forget and act like them: We begin to operate from thinking of being human as an only. Then the lattices of the life-wheel become procrustean.
That is not amusing after a while, is it?
The white light is everywhere. It permeates all doctrines, and even what those in the fleshplace call "truth" and "lies". This is what must be so for the game they play in the fleshplaces to be interesting. The three tiepins of the fleshplace world, then, are what they call irony, confusion, and paradox. They are also known by other names as form, distance, and time.
From these three, many things are possible within the completed cycle of the fleshplace.
You and I both know, for instance, that it is possible for two fleshplace fearjunkies, or even two mega-groups of fleshplace fearjunkeys to be in total disagreement, each calling the other wrong, and for them both to be right about the other and right about themselves. This makes the game interesting; or at the very least, it makes it risky.
It's very simple for fleshplace fearjunkies to get stuck on darkness and hypnotize themselves into believing that it is light. What is not so obvious to fleshplace fearjunkies is something else that is obvious to both you and me: It is equally possible for fleshplace fearjunkies to get stuck on lights, to become enraged with others who are stuck on other lights they label "different" or "darkness", and so to make great darkness out of all the light.
Fleshplace fearjunkies are very powerful in places of flesh: They make traffic jams getting stuck on lights, and create power failures they label grizzly and/or glamorous. They call these latter ones wars. This is another possibility created by the three tiepins.
Fleshplace fearjunkies also get to make lattices on their collective life-wheel, because of the three tiepins, which they call justification and regret. To both states of consciousness the fleshplace junkeys give a lot of significance, which they call seriousness here in the world of bodies and pleasurepain.
Sometimes too, the fleshplace fearjunkies get tired of seriousness and then they become hilarious. Most of those playing at being caught in the fleshplace can be divided into three groups of stuckness: Those stuck in what they presume to be higher purpose; Those stuck in what they presume to be their minds; and Those stuck in what they feel are their body drives.
You and I know that they already know something: The Being-parts playing within ego-masks, carrying passionate-bodies of past games within ego-masks, within whatever their environment husks may be, exist on all three levels in the fleshplace. The way out is always there, and so obvious that it is overlooked or mistaken for self-sacrifice on one extreme or body-lock resulting in suicide on the other: Balancing them.
First, in order to balance them, it is necessary to get in touch with them.
The desertnight glows clear in the fleshplace, and the air is clean in a Sacred Place you and I know. The stars glow, and you and I can hear our nerves sing and our blood roar. Even the nightcreatures, singing with the wind, do not interrupt the music of blood and nerves conversing with earth in universe.
The afternoon in the same Sacred Place is another life-glow of the same kind: We climb high in the pyramid rocks, just above the magnetic quartz-hill where the world jams into geomantic harmony. The higher we climb, the more quickly we forget our names and the way out of this place. The fiery ones remember, and the sky turns yellow.
You and I can tell that the gate is open: The red hawk soars lonely above in figure-eight. The underground rivers merge with the bloodroar, and our nerve-song cries in the hawk's throat.
The sky opens.
Balancing the three selves is possible in the fleshplace. The Being-fire burns in the crown, permeating all the rest. In these are seven life-centers. Should we tell the others what they already know, or let them find out?
Possibly, you and I have created an alternative to the two possibilities just suggested: We can speak to them in whispers that they will know are familiar.
That is the thing that the stuck ones will find entertaining:
Whispers that they will know are familiar.
We have been here a long time, you and I. We have been back many times, and remembered and forgotten, and hid in temples and spoken forth, still hiding, before great numbers, while leading them into or out of wildernesses of different kinds. We have done battle and resisted doing battle. We have locked horns and run away from locking horns. We have dries our eyes of tears and learned other ways of cying.
We have found our tears again, and found the many things tears can mean, in addition to grief.
You and I, we have seen the lion-bodied giant-man walking through the desert dust confusing the pterodactyls, making them jealous of dinosaur carrion. The desert heatwaves have not changed in all these sky-turnings. The terrible laughter of the teethbirds remains on now's edge.
And what did we do then, in those moments when the lion-bodied giant-man came our way, terrifying the forefathers of nightmares?
Just what did we do?
You remember and I remember.
Let's see if they can remember.
We've found out one thing about the stuck ones: We've just plain come out and told them countless times before, and they've got it, or thought they had, and maybe even got enough of it to do things they thought miraculous -- against those who didn't get it, or got some aspect of it other than the one or ones got by the first group, or put significance on what they got that was really the same and called it different, and convinced themselves of the difference.
So it just doesn't work very well to come out and tell them. It really works better to let them remember.
Letting them remember does three things you and I would appreciate, were we in their shoes: First, they get to create their experience of remembering, and feel no need to kow-tow to us and/or burn us at some stake, or take sides about it and do both. (Let's face it, we've done that before: It's boring.) Second, they get to be responsible for what they've created, instead of letting someone else take the burden on. (You and I, we've had enough of both fame and burdens other than our own.) Third, they get to play constructive fleshplace games and message on their own, instead of droving in stadiums expecting us to do it all for them.
Lets face it, you and I, the Piscean Age is over and done with. If we are to mass together in crowds, let's do it to celebrate each other. Jesus already did his trip: Let's create space for fleshplace fearjunkies to get what it really is.
Also, when they remember for themselves, they get to find their balance. In other words, they get to get that they are already balanced.
What are the fleshplace fearjunkies thinking as they read this right now? Ah, you and I, we know.
First, they are thinking, "What the hell is this, some kind of psychosis? Is it a communist plot? Is it a capitalist plot?" For sure, they find it fascinating, even though a bit boring. They put all of their considerations out where they can experience them as they read this.
Many of the stuck ones are probably sure this is a conspiracy of some sort, if not some kind of new religious cult, or both. Alas, the shackles of the Picsean Age remain familiar and unidentified to those who walk forward in life looking at a mirror at what they've passed by, and, seeing it backwards, think that's what's ahead.
Now, they have an option about being stuck.
Still, those stuck in their heads are going to want footnotes, or read them into the text, and try to understand. Some of them will even think and convince others that they understand.
Some will take this personally, and feel as if they're being jeered at.
Those who stay stuck may never ever find out who I am. They may never ever guess who you are.
Still, now they have an option about never ever.
If we say more at this point, we will violate our agreement to whisper about familiar things, won't we? Let's not do that. Let's play the game of the Nõ Masks and the Lion Dance. Let's even give the headstuck fleshplace fearjunkies opportunities to goosechase footnotes.
It's fun till it gets boring. Boredom is almost there.
Good Heavens! You and I, we could mislead the stuck ones at this point. We could tell them that it's all in the words. We could tell them that where it is is to go out in the desert to the Sacred Place you and I both know too well. We could tell them to isolate themselves, or merge into crowds, or both. We could tell them to effort to listen to their nerves sing and their blood roar. We could tell them, "That's where it is." Ha!
Well, we could, after all. Any of the previous would give them space to listen to their minds' chatter.
Maybe that would be a start.
And then, all techniques are significant and nothing is important. They'll find out, won't they, that they already have found out?
They'll even come back once they've got it and say, "Oh my God!" several times in several places. It's silly to predict where. It could be anywhere within and beyond these words.
The point is to give them space, before, during, and after-wards, to say, "So what?"
Some more stuck ones came by this night. You and I both know them. They asked questions of others here, and chatted and played "Ain't-it-awful."
A couple of them, toward eleven o'clock by their time, noticed yawning and aliveness. For a moment, they even saw the nightbird. I messaged with them. You've watched these things happen many times before.
Messaging with them is just like messaging with the others, except that they aren't awake to it in the fleshplace. Ah, sky-bird, night-bird, day-hawk soaring in figure-eights, the game is so serious to those who won't wake up. Sometimes also, those who won't wake up also become frivolous and supercilious resisting their serious positions.
You and I know that this amounts to the same thing as being serious, don't we?
The body-stuck ones, the apenecks and neckers, they are amusing. Should we tell them that it is found in nudism, keeping it in their pants, or both? Maybe they still think it's in drugs.
Drugs alter brainwaves, that's true. The problem is, when the body-stuck ones think they're getting spiritual, just how are we going to tell them what it's like to watch flat Agreement-consciousness in group-minds transform?
They'll find out that they've already found out, one way or the another. There are ghosts in the pyramid rocks, and there's magic in these words.
The thing is, though, that getting goosed on acid and walking into busses either hurts or instantaneously puts the stuck ones someplace else where they are surrounded by their memories, or both. Dope gets them into glimpses: You and I have found out that it's like the parable of the blind men and the elephant. The added twist is that the doper among them grabbed the elephant by the nuts (he was a male elephant anyway) and the elephant, forthwith and appropriately in that he was thick into his musth, yelled a great yell and stomped the doper.
You and I have seen that blind one still stuck out there on the astral. He's running around, now sort of getting that he can kind of see, trying to tell the others that he is OK. Well, sort of.
When you don't wake up, you don't wake up either here or there, till you do.
You and I, we know that, don't we?
Those who are committed to higher purpose, what shall we whisper to them? Perhaps the question is, what shall we not whisper to them? They may already know of the crimson sick rose. Shall we tell them who is the rose? Shall we tell them who is the worm eating it away?
No. Why should we bother? They already know, and they will find out no sooner or later than now, when they learn how to stop casting aspersions upon others not in their pet movement or not living up to their precious expectations within that movement -- and when they get that they get how to uncreate the aspersions instead.
What do we say to those who gloat in expectation of Armageddon? What do we say to tunafish who want to be canned? Blessed is the tunafish whom the stuck human eats; for the tunafish will then become stuck and human and consider it an only?
They'll play around for a while, till the realization that the Transformation is complete pounces upon them, or yells and stomps them, or whispers at them and they're still wherever they are, wherever else the other stuck ones believe that is.
Now they'll know that they know and knew all along.
They have an option. The option will haunt them and taunt them.
They cannot help but listen to themselves: Aye, there's the rub!
Dark November. Wind whistling through the Being-trees. Nighthawk dark. Moon down. Dancing through graveyards, I cloud drift past this fleshplace. Going to meet them is like walking into a party full of smoke. They drift up to me, intensely remember my name, shadows spread with confetti light, and blurred music from the others in the background. I intensely remember their names. We intensely talk, for these ones don't message except through talking, though their talking drifts in and out of thoughtstreams and images conveyed almost like messaging.
The intensity is joyous or sad or both. Or something very much else which gets stuck somewhere out there beyond words that make any sense in the fleshplace. It's all terribly logical and significant where they are, though.
Some of them want me to bring messages back to the fleshplace. I tell them that I cannot do more than they do by intending the messages. They do something like laugh, remembering that they are here, not there, wherever here and there are. They don't exactly forget; they just reside within undifferentiated memory.
It's like clouds and cotton, except when I think it's going to stay that way. Then, very often, it becomes like crystalline steel and electronics and supersystems of cybernated technology, and spaceships.
Being there is a lot like being here, in that there are things you and I take for granted here, called Agreements; and things you and I take for granted there, called other Agreements. The experience of the Agreements becomes more than a taking-for-grantedness, when you and I remember that we've been waiting over there before for opportunities to find various colors of landing lights and fly back into fleshplace birth here.
You and I have been here before. The stuck ones exude curiosity. They want proofs, a Baedeker. They want to measure it, observe it, and repeat the measurements and observations. They strain for doctoral dissertations and play heavier-than-thou games, forgetting all the while to lighten up.
Maybe what it is, is that proofs and Baedekers there and/or here are so pointless when you and I know how to get around. Anyhow, the stuck ones can take our word for it: Baedekers already exist. Proofs already exist and will unfold. Those who come from belief will either believe them or disbelieve them. Those who experience them will find out that they already have found out.
Listening is one part of it, and observing is another. Even listening to deafness and observing unconsciousness and blindness. Take what you get.
Part of the kinkiness of being here is forgetting that we have been there. And what really makes it wild is sometimes somehow remembering the rainbows, and getting light on our feet, and flying places in our dreams, and making terrible sense of it, and getting the Agreements for here confused with the Agreements for there.
You and I both know that so well, that we can't figure out just how to say it all in fleshplace terms.
Maybe this time we'll play objective correlative: Say part of it and let them fill in the rest while we do ourselves. That way, they'll for once make it their own. That's what it is: You and I both know that.
When we've been out there long enough, being back here sort of feels like it does out there. Walking down a hot springtime Illinois street, or a Monsoon Avenue in Manila or Saigon with jeepneys cruising tattersalled by, or pedicabs motorized to ease the working class and appease the leisurely is very much a ghostland.
To not-know a language is pretty much the same thing as getting the Agreements confused. Not remembering the Agreements is pretty much the same thing as forgetting how to read a map. Remembering is easy when we give up making it difficult.
Flowing through it all works. Getting stuck on ahas! or uh-ohs! doesn't work. It's really that simple.
Do you remember how to flow through getting stuck?
Of course you do! Hang out with it.
Pride is another one. In the fleshplaces, the pinwheel-eyed stuckness junkeys, be they puritans, lechers, dopers, or all three in any concurrent or consecutive order -- you and I have seen them and been there ourselves at one time or another, haven't we? -- get pouty and exclusive about coming from needing agreement from others. So they exclusivise their agreement to those special in-ones who give it; or failing that, exhibit their ego-differentiation as a weirdness. This gets them fame or incarceration or both in simultaneous or sequential order. Some people even martyr them: That's a rich one, if gold is the same as hot air.
Now, there are many tribes wandering around in the fleshplace. Some walk stridently forward into self-constructed mirror images of where they've been, and howl "ain't it awful" while reconstructing their mirrors to proceed with greater dudgeon to the next bang-up. The joy is that there are many tribes, and tribes within tribes. The mirrors will reflect new lies. Along with the old ones.
The lies reflected by mirrors are often enough like what's ahead to be accurately confused with what's ahead, and thus contribute to the survival of the fleshplace junkeys' stuckness. That's what makes them continue. When it gets shaky out there, someone offers them another mirror. Just occasionally, someone takes their mirrors away.
Creating someone to take the mirrors away lets things flow and happen. Mirrors are always an option, even when taken away.
Who ultimately puts them there or takes them away?
The dust of graveyards marches by the ruined parade stadiums near conquered empires' capitol villages. Mirrors exist over there too; so many come back in here on landing lights they see in mirrors, and are born again to make war.
It does little to ask why this is. It does the same to ask why not. What works is to remember who created it in the first place.
Listening with the eyes and seeing with the ears, tasting with the touch and feeling with he sense of smell lead us to the observation of life chatter.
Can you put your hands in front of you and keep them there? Don Juan told you.
You and I, we've been on a long journey, and every step of it is contained in the right-now.
Or is it, rather, that we've stayed in the right-now, and run through a holographic projection tape of a long journey?
Does it make that much of a difference one way or the other?
Well, what's so for you, anyway? Can you run the tape forwards and back again as I can, or can't you?
It doesn't matter whether you can or can't.
Fleshplace fearjunkeys get stuck on hope, despair, fear, courage, aha!, and huh? when they run their tapes. This makes them act their tapes out again and again.
As for you and me, what are we bragging about? This also makes us act our tapes out again and again.
By the way, we better tell them that we're not making it wrong to be a fleshplace fearjunkey, nor right to be a journeyer, nor wrong to be a journeyer, nor right to be a fleshplace fearjunkey.
You paid your way here through the landing light you found. Take your choice, now that you know you've got one.
If you feel like you're lost, just stand or sit there and hang out with whatever is there. You already know.
I wake in the dawn and go walking. The nightjourneys are still very much with me, and I hold them without resisting them. The green of new grass after rain in the desert, the wildflowers shouting springtime, intensify morning before it gets warm. I have been here before many times and will be again.
It's all been done before: Acted out before, laughed at before, taken seriously before, made war over before, made peace over before, institutionalized before, understood before, misunderstood before, rebelled against by oncoming generations before, and then done again the same way but somehow differently enough to start the cycle rolling again -- before.
I've even told you what I'm about to tell you before. (The eggheads and theologians will have fun putting significance upon this, as they have before, won't they?)
Once, before I achieved certainty about journeying, I had a dream. I don't know what it was, except I remember it was very, very boring: Something turgid and undigested properly, the body-stuck would aver. And they would probably be right, as far as they go with it.
Anyhow, I announced in the sleepworld to whomever was there, that I was bored and I wished that they would change the tape.
I received an answer in a sort of stewardess voice, only this one needed more PR training, because she whined a bit:
"We are only trying to entertain you."
They changed the tape. It was much better.
You and I, why don't we change the tapes to something much better? I mean, the tapes are already there, right? The tapes are already complete, right?
Why do we need to keep running them over and over? I mean the one's we've been doing for what they call in the fleshplace, the last few millennia or so. Let's put one on we haven't heard for a long, long time. Maybe it's even really a new one, though you and I are pretty well certain that's impossible.
The one I'm vaguely remembering will be as good as brand new, at least to those who insist upon not remembering it, even vaguely. The fleshplace fearjunkeys will be convinced that it is brand new, and I think that it could run on the millennia hit parades a long time.
No, no, no! Absolutely no violence! That won't be necessary. They already have that! Look deeper into the stack.
That's better! You're getting the same one I'm getting. Actually, it's already started playing: It's called by many names. I call it getting off of belief-disbelief and not needing agreement or disagreement. The caption to the longer title is EXPERIENCE: What you've got is what you've got.
Ah yes, I see that whether you've created it or found it, you've really got it!
With so many of us here who journey, and with more of us popping through to NOW-awareness every parsec, it's better to listen to and experience the tape that's playing now.
Oh sure, fleshplace fearjunkeys have mirrors on their ears, and they don't even know it. They live their lives by mirrors.
Once I had a crazy uncle who owned a pool hall. It was one of the old kind with an open front. Flies would come in and he would hang fly paper. He'd run out of flypaper, so many flies got stuck.
Anyhow, he'd get furious and run outside swatting flies.
Apparently the flies, much like fleshplace fearjunkeys, like to watch their kind being slaughtered. The more that came, the more he swatted.
That's the way the new tape is playing, just like the old ones.
So it is that the fleshplace fearjunkeys will make right and make wrong, finding conspiracies stuck to the flypaper of their intellect.
They will first blame this group, and then that group, and then this religion and that religion. Then, they will blame drugs, then pollution, then youth, then sex, then puritanism, then the Bomb, then the peace creeps, then themselves.
It gets boring, doesn't it?
Then, a few of them will do their Santa Claus take-away, and maybe even create living happily ever after. They will, only if they get something about the fleshplace and a lot of other places: Living happily or unhappily or mediocrely or extraordinarily ever after, and ever after all by itself, all have one thing in common --- THEY'RE PROBLEMS!
Really, it's not fair, except when it is. That makes it even more unfair when it's unfair; also more fair when it's fair than if it were just undifferentiated fairness or unfairness.
That's what it's like in the fleshplace and many other levels and places. What it's like in the white light is something else again, except that it includes what it's like here too -- as entertainment.
Anyhow, for those running around mad with reasoning listening to, thinking in, looking at, and wishing for all in their mirrors, they will keep on a while. Only something you and I know is inevitable: It's Kali-Yuga o'clock.
It's really unreasonable.
You and I, we know that.
You and I watched a hamster in an exercise wheel once, running himself into an ecstasy. He ran really fast, and then hung on and the wheel took him round, bounced up as if to start for another turn, and see-sawed back and forth to a stop.
We watched that hamster give it another go. This time he ran and ran and ran and ran and RAN! Then, he hung on, and the wheel gave him a ride twice. Then, again, it stopped.
He kept hanging on, dizzy-eyed.
Is that getting stuck on happily-ever-after?
Anyhow, the hamster went over into a corner of the cage, burrowed into the sawdust, and hid.
The new tape that's on is set to the time of Kali-Yuga o'clock, isn't it?
Yes, you and I, we've seen it and listened to it and lived it before.
Some of them didn't want to. Maybe now some of them are ready for remembering it.
That's the thing with this old "new" tape: The thing that makes it seem "crazy" to the ones stuck in the hall of mirrors--
SIGNIFICANCE IS OPTIONAL.
Up in the same water system as Sespe Hotsprings, up in Ventura County, there is this place where a creek gets deep flowing over and by a big rock, that you and I both know.
You and I remember a time when we watched a bunch of journeyers and fleshplace fearjunkeys skinny-dipping there. We were too.
Anyhow, one of the fleshplace fearjunkies, a guy who was all pinwheel-eyed and belief-stuck about being flaked on acid, and making those who weren't wrong, swam and swam, and dove and swam. And slammed right into the rock.
He got a five-point concussion.
That's what we call slamming into an Agreement.
The thing is, we all agreed that the rock was and is there. We all put it there as part of the Game Board. We even all agreed (including him) that he would have and exercise the option to swim and dive and swim and slam into it.
That's the thing about the fleshplace and several other levels and places, in slightly different ways usually (though not always exactly): Significance in now optional, and Agreements, at least the solid ones we agreed to call permanent (relatively so, still), are not always optional.
Drugs get fleshplace fearjunkies and journeyers confused about Agreements, like gravity, and what happens on this level when you jump unaugmented by parachutes or something off tall buildings, and busses hurting when they hit you and stuff like that.
That's on this level. What's so on other levels is terribly so there as well. It works to keep the Agreements straight; it does not work to get them confused. It works to remember which level or levels you're operating on; it does not work to forget.
Yes, of course: You and I both know that it is possible to operate on more than one level at once. Possible, hell! We all do all the time. It's just that we're focused on one or the other specifically more than the others we're on at any given point.
The theoretical physicists are just finding out. Or so they think. Some of them may even be realizing that they are remembering.
That's when it really gets to be fun, unless they think it's a soap opera.
In the fleshplace, even boo-hoo's, way underneath, are fun.
Now, some literal-minded fleshplace fearjunkeys are going to think that you and I condone doing negative things, because way underneath it's all fun.
Not so: First, what goes around comes around; second, it's Kali Yuga o'clock
It works to go with the flow in the fleshplace, or any other place: You and I both know that we are going with the flow anyway; and that if we resist the flow, we get pulled along and maybe dashed against one of the Agreements.
The thing is, you and I, we're here, right?
What works then?
Failing to find what works, we find what doesn't work.
In each case, we have what?
Works include what works and what doesn't work.
Jesus said: "By their works, shall ye know them."
He was doing nothing more or less that directing traffic in the direction in which it was already going.
So then, it works to do what works.
The thing is that journeyers know that whatever happens, we remain alive. Fleshplace fearjunkeys think that they have to do something about it to survive.
That's the problem.
Fleshplace fearjunkeys, with all the best expectations, or even some nasty expectations, do negative things that work in programming negative results.
Fleshplace fearjunkeys come from needing to survive; so they opt for survival rather than getting that they are alive. Thus, they operate from need to get better and fear of getting worse.
They get stuck in getting worse a lot, even when they have agreement that whatever they've got is better. It's what it tastes like and feels like and is like that it's worth while to tell the truth about.
When it's supposed to be sweet and isn't -- that's when fleshplace fearjunkeys get curious and/or nasty. Sometimes they pop out of their flesh-tubes permanently, for this time around, trying to prove that they are right and that it does taste sweet like the ads and everybody else they listen to and imitate says it should, when it really doesn't for them personally.
Or, fleshplace fearjunkeys may be running a revolving life-tape around something that feels sweet, and doesn't produce sweetness for others.
Then they boo-hoo about it and make it right and others who don't do it wrong; or make it wrong and justify it by making themselves right and getting agreement that they're right for other things they do, and by voting when they've already voted.
You and I know this. We also know something else: It is important to warn the violence-fetishists among the fleshplace fearjunkies to watch out for stereotypes.
Graven images, they're sometimes called.
Both journeyers and fleshplace fearjunkeys abound in all life styles, races, cultures, creeds, neighborhoods, countries. And people are popping through all the time.
It works to give them space.
It does not work to make-right and make-wrong.
While we're whispering, we better whisper something else: There's no such thing as trying on this or any other millennia tape: There's only doing or not-doing, being or not-being, having or not-having.
Thus, it does not work to lie about whatever is coming up for you, if you're a journeyer; or about whatever you are, if you're still insisting upon being a fleshplace fearjunkey.
You and I know that all of you remember.
Going back to the three tiepins, ironically, confusingly, and paradoxically, trying does exist as experimenting which means (Guess what?): Doing or not-doing, being or not-being, having or not-having.
It's just that fleshplace fearjunkies miss it by giving themselves stroke-points for trying and efforting and beating themselves and others up and blaming and shaming and feeling innocent or guilty or both, and they think those are the Agreements.
So, what are the Agreements?
Aha! You tell me.
First, if you've got mirrors there, remember that they give them backwards. You might put them down and see what works and what doesn't. You might also see what brings survival and what brings aliveness.
Take a look at your Agreements.
It works to keep them. For those that can be dissolved, it works to dissolve them, if you're not going to keep them.
It does not work to lie about them, to forget them, or to hide from them, which amounts to the same thing as hiding your head under a chair with your hind end sticking in the wind, while believing nobody can see your hind end because you can't.
To keep Agreements, it works to tell the truth about them and where you are with them.
To do this, you get to remember them:
They are there. You can remember.
Hang out with it.
Among flowers, among trees, among coral, among animated creatures of other sorts, there are many different kinds. Among stars, among planets, among galaxies, among microbes, there are many different kinds.
That's the way it is: In universe, between sunsight and sunclypse, and beyond sunsight and sunclypse, there are many different kinds.
You and I know that: It's obvious.
Imagine, though, if you will, a person who despises all flowers but one color of one kind. Maybe it is because he or she has a great experience of the oneness with, around, or because of the one kind. And thereupon forsakes all others. And thereupon sets out to destroy all others.
Is this really useful?
Surely, people have their favorite kinds, and favorite ones of favorite kinds. That is the way many journeyers are, and the way many fleshplace fearjunkeys are.
Yet, there are those who would take away life from every kind of something but one or a few, because of their creation of preferences.
These ones are stuck on make-rights and make-wrongs.
They have a game -- taking away aliveness in the interest of survival.
It is as if they are like a hermit stuck in a dungeon with plenty of food and water, for many years till he forgot what light was like. Somebody threw him a match. He lit it, said "Aha!"
He lit some straw afire and beheld the light and thought that he had found it.
Soon, the light went out, and he was in darkness and disappointment again, having burned himself with flaming straw.
Then, a bit later, just after he had lost hope, someone threw him a long-life cell flashlight. He'd committed himself for a long time, and had never seen one of these before. He turned it on and it glowed for a long time, though he had long ago lost sense of clock time.
He hyped himself into believing that it was the light of the universe.
Then, one day, Coyote took over the dungeon. There were many hermits in the cells of this dungeon, each not knowing or having forgotten about the others, burning themselves with matches and straw and getting high long afterward on flashlights.
Coyote played a trick: It so happened that the cells were all thick-walled and situated around a great circle. Coyote took a set of side-show mirrors and put them at strategic places in the central hall into which all the hermit cells had doors. He turned out the lights in the central hall, which were dim at best anyway.
Then, he pushed the button that opened all the hermits' doors, letting them out at once.
Guess what happened?
You and I both know. We've been there a few times before, haven't we?
When peacocks fight for hens, it's simple: They strut feathers before hens and do their damnest to stomp the feathers of any other male in the henyard.
It's a simple parlay for the gene-pool jocuzzi -- a fight for good vibrations. Constructive friction.
What about when fleshplace fearjunkeys strut their zealfeathers?
That doesn't look so simple, does it?
They really do a fan-dance behind humility and arrogance. What makes it interesting is that the humility of fleshplace fearjunkeys is usually arrogance in drag.
It's a game called "make us right and make them wrong".
And, in order to make them wrong, "we" need to get underneath that "they" are right, and be covert about it to "ourselves" and resist "them" for survival's sake.
And, in order to make "us" right, "we" need to get underneath that "we" are wrong, and be covert about it to "ourselves" and resist finding out for survival's sake.
If we both find out that we are both right and wrong in our universes, the game is over.
Some people are scared of whatever it is after the game is over.
And how much fear are they willing to cause and be at the effect of because they are afraid of whatever it is after the game is over?
Coyote will tell them. Or he'll start up another game.
In order to play survival, it is necessary to pretend that things are incomplete, and that they need to get better in order to be complete. Also, it is necessary to believe that there isn't enough to go around, and get everybody playing to agree.
Anyhow, that's what fleshplace fearjunkeys take for totally granted, believe in, despair of, and hope against: The survival game, which they get off on, or get off on not getting off on, or something more baroque in terms of onion layers of getting off on whatever.
It's what's so for them, in other words. Not so obviously, something else is really so. Not to be believed in, not to be hoped for -- just so: Aliveness Games.
Aliveness games start when one comes from the position of taking total responsibility for creating everything complete, and for getting that the whole thing is a process of unfolding.
Not understanding it, getting it.
Understanding is a fleshplace fearjunkey mindgame, equivalent to verbal stereotyping with a hope attached to it that somehow some comfort release will come from a given verbal (or mathematical) formula, and that it will end happily-ever-after right there.
Truly, you and I know that sometimes some understandings work (some for a longer time than others). These give fleshplace fearjunkeys ample opportunities to polish their mirrors and be right about them. Then, understandings stop working, and fleshplace fearjunkeys get mean and play survival and make-wrong on people who point out that their pet understandings do not work, or at least do not work for them personally.
Understandings create space for understanding one thing at a time. Getting things creates space for many understandings and for moving off of positions.
The first step in getting things is to get where you are with them, which means being able to get off of stereotypes about what is hip and/or unhip ("should-oughts"), and being willing to admit that you don't get it if that's what's so for you; and being able to put that there by hanging out with it.
You may even get nothing.
Quietly, the roar builds up. Bouncing up and out of the fleshplace, as if up from a trampoline, I almost forget the other Agreements: For one thing, I almost forget that I can fly.
The roar has faded. I climb through images I put there. The bedroom is different. It's easy to get stuck on that.
Up and through the dark tunnel, I intend going to the white light this time.
The others are there.
From here on, I just cannot say it in fleshplace terms.
You and I have been there. The fleshplace fearjunkeys have been there. Some go there a whole lot. I talk to them on other levels. They message on the levels of messaging. I know them; they know me.
Back here in the fleshplace, I meet them, sometimes "for the first time" in this life. They often say, "I feel as if I already know you." Sometimes they act shaken up, and they draw away.
They do know me. I know them. You and I both know them.
They know the games and we know the games.
They sometimes don't want to look at the Game.
I'll admit it: It used to be very frustrating and I'd act out the frustration. I'd come on and scare them, I'd wag at them, I'd shoot wake up colors at their eggs.
Occasionally, it worked. Not very often.
Too often, they'd go counterphobic and call me crazy.
I was smart enough to stay this side of the line which borders impolitic behavior from the politic; so they just found reasons to leave me alone and cancel my minor votes, not my major votes.
I do it differently now. I used to make-wrong on them for being unconscious. That is, their unconsciousness of what I thought they should be aware was very much not OK with me.
That made things worse.
I got to look at my own unconsciousness of the ramifications around being on a make-right on myself and a make-wrong on them. I was resisting them being where they were, and they stayed there.
It was (and is, if you're there) sort of like being stuck in one of those little finger-puzzles you used to be able to get in Border Town shops or in Chinatown curio shops wherever: The harder you pull, "trying" to get out, the more stuck you get.
Lighten up, and it flows: You can get unstuck.
Anyhow, that's what I found out about the old new tape, and it was true of the Piscean tape and is true of those in mirror land.
It is also true that if I watch the clock on the fleshplace level, the pot will never boil. That is, when I wait for them to get off it, it seems they never do: I'm resisting them being there, actually. I'm not letting go of my intention, not getting that it's complete and perfect as such; and therefore intending for something other than what I think I'm intending to manifest.
What's true about journeying is true about the fleshplace: Intentions are evidenced only in results.
You and I have found out about that the hard way.
You and I both know that here is a place and the other places are places. Agreements are Agreements, and we have experienced loss from not keeping them, and great gain from keeping them, wherever and whatever they are.
Some gee-whizzers who journey or stay stuck think that the cheese is in journeying.
You and I know that journeying can be a stuckness: It's too east for some to journey. They don't keep their Agreements properly here, and they end up in the madhouse, or bankrupt, or popped out of their flesh-tubes.
They may not keep their Agreements there either, and thereby give themselves a reason to lose their votes here.
You and I know that perfection is cheese, and that it's is keeping Agreements.
Actually, it is of assistance to appreciate things: There are many stuck in other places who come from need to be here.
Being here and coming from need to be there, or being there and coming form need to be here, or being stuck and coming from need to journey, or being a journeyer and coming from need to be stuck are all soap operas.
The center of a soap opera, its seed actually, is coming from need.
There are many ways to journey, even when one is stuck. It starts by coming from the position of having created the whole thing.
The ego often reasons and/or riots that this is not possible. You and I, we call ego's reasoning and rioting a bullshit tape.
Our Being long ago divided up into many and put on ego-costumes in layers and layers, so that we could play soap-opera for a while, differentiate the abundance, and come from need to see what that feels like.
It became boring to be at-option about coming from need, at least for those of us who've ever been or are stuck; so we played it harder; We created forgetting that there was anything else other than coming from need.
That makes the game really kinky: Now we get to effort to remember and forget and remember and forget and remember.
Well, look at it: Starvation next to incredible abundance in India and many other places; war, pollution, the bomb, tears, joy, having, not-having, revenge, forgiveness, validation, in-validation, rebellion, conformity, falling away, repenting of falling away, boredom, amusement; the brand-new-radical gee-whiz and/or so-what, the old-worn-out-conventional gee whiz and/or so-what; pain and pleasure, pleasurepain and painpleasure; sinning and being saved, saving by sinning and sinning to be saved; making rules, pretending they are laws, breaking and/or keeping them; being overt, being covert, mixing these two up incredibly; getting and forgetting whatever kind of Agreements; confusion and clarity, being clear about being confused, confused about being clear;
hamsters on wheels.
Who or what else on wheels?
Ah, you and I, we're hanging out with it, aren't we?
Stuckness is basically ego-layers acting as mind, creating ego in present tense with all tenses cooperating (some overt, some hidden), masquerading as Being, and the Being, to all appearances, choosing (and, to all appearances, seeming to forget that it has chosen) to forget that it created and put on the ego-layers, so that ego becomes confused with Being.
Being still experiences, and ego tells stories.
You and I remember that Being journeys and ego goes along.
Sometimes, ego nags Being and Being lets it drive. Eventually, this means getting stuck wherever, however, on whatever.
Ego, wrapped in its layers, acts like a nagging spouse. Ego insists that a journey was "just so," not the way Being experienced it. Sometimes, ego insists that there is no journeying at all -- that it does not believe in journeying, in other words.
In fleshplace fearjunkies, it is so: Ego is like the nagging, dominating spouse; and Being appears as if it is the pecked, put-upon, dominated spouse.
In stuck journeyers, it is the same.
When Being remembers who is the powerful one experiencing, and who rides along, the ego becomes completely cooperative, and it is possible to experience things in perfection: just as they are and not as they're not.
You and I have experienced something else about this: When we brag about it and "try" to cherish it by hanging onto it and putting it in a silver box, saying "This is it," we get to uncreate it and play "the way we were" and/or "that was it and nothing else can ever match up."
When we are willing to throw away the silver box and share, we realize how real it is, and let it change.
When we share without the silver box, we can create and uncreate whatever we had once placed or would have otherwise put in the silver box; we can create and uncreate what we're sharing. This way, even perfection does not run us.
Another name for the silver box is the casket. You and I remember this well, don't we?
The blue place before the white light, is filled with stars, not as they're seen with fleshplace eyes. Journeying there is spherical, and there is a focus toward one thing which can come back in and be one focus upon all things.
Time, as we know it, does not exist.
Some there are who will tell you that you need a life-chord to travel. You and I have found out that the trouble with making a life-chord is that it can get cut. Knowing oneself there and intending it works better, in our experience.
At any rate, it is the chords and the hangings-on that make order appear as chaos, as does "trying" to judge the totality by the behavior of one of its parts.
In different contexts, Bucky has pointed this out time and time again: It's what's so.
The Transformation is here and has already taken place: You and I and the rest, we all get to play out its unfolding in many transformation flowers.
The Transformation is something that changes the significance and essence of three things in ongoing now: The significance and essence of that labeled as past, the significance and essence of that labeled as present, and the significance and essence of that labeled as future.
The Transformation does not need anyone's belief or agreement to make it work: It is the essence of what some conceptually call "deep space". It is like a chunk of collapsed star which is so dense we do not notice it falling through the universe: It has passed, and by mirrored eyes and hearts keeping beat to mirrored emotions, it was not noticed for what it is.
The Transformation is the essence of the Agreements.
For one thing, it's Kali-Yuga o'clock, as has been mentioned before. Things race, even the nature of time passing is warped speed. Reflective surfaces abound, dancing mind and auric energy abound. Ego games which are fixed are devoured not just in Ophiucus, they are devoured by the speeding-up of life-tapes.
Closed systems open as petals to the Sun, in the time of the Compassionate One they say resides in the Dark Star in Ophiucus, below Scorpio.
Those who remain attached to fixed egos, all of which are closed systems, may feel the Transformation as burning fire. Those who come into Being contact and get that they can only remain there, may experience the Transformation by dancing through the fiery furnace.
How does one take this?
Get what you get. Hang out with it. Be willing to move on.
Survival is the yoke of ego, which is burned off;
Aliveness is the delight of Being, which breathes in its own element.
Once again, mirror-freaks may get Agreements confused:
In this situation, the best they can do is experience Transformation strained through outworn metaphors, and yield themselves to it only through resignation.
They miss the party which is going on within and around them while they do this.
Then too, missing it for a while is one way of celebrating it. Those who opt (and forget that they're opting) for not getting it, will merely get it later on in the tape right now.
Getting it is getting it, one way or another or another.
There are a lot of people who are curious about what form the Transformation may take.
Get that the question should be : "What forms is the Transformation taking?"
Take your pick.
You and I have seen Atlantis and Lemuria go down.
It's really kind of trite to do that again.
And, we may get to be trite.
That's boring, though, and we can see beyond boredom,
which is high space, and we can get higher.
What we get to do is clean up the Game Board.
Uh-oh. Some of the mirrorfreaks think this means getting violent, Can't you hear them?
Actually, violence -- Mansonite, Symbionese, Marxist, Maoist, Imperialist, Expansionist, Contractionist, Nationalist, Internationalist, so-called Peace-Fighting, overt Adversarial, the American-apple-pie version, and any other kind -- are overt manifestations, when they occur, of the multi-headed procrustianly-faceted survival game that is dirtying up the Game Board.
Yet still, it takes two parties to play "Kick Me": The kicker and the kickee.
In the fleshplace and on many other levels, being a master is simply being a slave in drag, and visa versa. Winning is loosing in drag, and the other way around.
You and I have found out often enough, haven't we?
Evil has been defined by Werner as opting for survival rather than aliveness.
Any way we slice it, playing below the line in fleshplace junkey stuckness is playing while clamped by the three tiepins.
The way it hasn't worked for a long time can be abstracted as follows: Somebody gets an idea and makes it workable. Maybe some more people experience it working. Then, others come along and start to believe in it and hang onto it, thereby making it go away sooner or later.
Anyhow, in the process of believing in it (which means individually and/or collectively resisting doubts about the idea by making them wrong and withholding them within and from oneself and/or within and from the group while invalidating them in others and violently preaching the doctrine of the believed-in-idea; so that the doubts become more-or-less unconscious and definitely taboo within the individual and/or group ego-stack, and are acted out and realized consciously by the believers only as overt make-wrongs targeted with concurrent, confluent, and unconscious counterphobia at others not aligned with the believed-in-idea), the group of believers gather agreement through propaganda and whatever working demonstrations they can muster for the idea they are preciously hanging onto, and resultantly more believers (who are often attracted by reacting against disbelief in the generating idea from those accurately categorizable as actively and passively resisting and thereby giving power to the idea).
The believing group identify the way man is as being incomplete and imperfect and in need of more-or-less radical completing and perfectionizing; consequently, they create reasons to set up standards (platforms, manifestos, dogmas, creeds, ideologies) as to how man should be remade in order to become complete and perfect.
To this end, the believers play win-and-lose power games: If they win, they assume power. To the degree that they believe man has to be remade to an ideal image set in their mirrors, they impose a tyranny, with whatever violence and abrogation of freedom they deem necessary (often enough, contrary to what they preach), to implement their remaking.
Aha! This is where everything they resist reasserts itself: The reality of their resistance gooses them.
You and I could add details to the previous abstraction ad nauseam.
One detail that we might whisper about is making martyrs: Martyrs are energizers of causes which kill aliveness.
This is not to say that martyrdom has not brought some useful changes; rather, it is to say that martyrdom becomes inefficient at Kali-Yuga o'clock.
We have more useful abstractions with which to pull down power: That's one of the beauties of the Transformation.
At this point, let's whisper a bit more about how it hasn't worked: Evil, opting for survival rather than aliveness (in other words), procreates its nullification by
The most simple form is A hits B: B hits A back.
You and I know that it gets more baroque than that, though it remains that at the center: A gets not-OK with B and hits him; B then becomes at effect and not-OK with A (or was in the first place) and hits back. Time can have interesting effects on group-minds that play this way: Group A gets mad at B, maybe making it class war or genocide or religious war as a way of getting back at B. Maybe then, A wins and sets up something very close to a duplicate system to the one B had (or that they conned themselves into believing B had) that they hated so much.
Either that, or group A gets defeated and group B gets to gloat and/or be horrified. B throws a war-crimes trial and/or public self-immolations with executions for group-A prisoners. Group B gets to be right about winning, in other words.
Sooner or later, people inheriting B's victory really get to hate and remember what A did -- make A not-OK and be horrified, to put it another way. Then whenever anything else comes up that looks to them like what A did, the inheritors of B get their reactive buttons pushed: Then, the inheritors of B get to re-run/act out something exactly or pretty much like what A did in the first place.
Then too, sometimes the ones that inherit the wealth of B's victories get to make the older generation play "ain't-it-awful" by rebelling against their predecessors and taking on the trappings of something that looks like more-or-less modified A, one way or another.
You and I can smell these tapes rotting at Kali-Yuga o'clock, can't we? It's kind of a false stinky-cheese called ersatz counterphobic reaction Limburger.
Only unlike real Limburger, it keeps on rotting and rotting -- inside the belly and out.
So cleaning up the Game Board is one beautiful way of aligning with the Transformation that already is.
We've whispered about what hasn't worked before, you and I. Now, maybe we'll whisper about what works, remembering to leave it objective correlative, so that the others will pick up on it and get that it's their own.
After all, the Transformation is something that belongs to more than just you and me, doesn't it?
Really, the Transformation belongs to and has been created complete by everybody in the universe:
We all get to take responsibility for it.
In the deep night of blue glowing, in the middle of the journey, amidst color-spirals and galactic birds firedancing, rainbows are born. The spacewind journeys carry me to wherever I intend; and there are journeyers and stuck ones there. I glance through and peep through vortex tunnels of light and darkness glowing. Others glance back.
Possibly one of the most intriguing things that happens, whether one is stuck or journeying or freed up about or stuck on either, is finding, when one peeps curiously at others in other spaces and places (all the time, not putting much significance upon what or where one is), that others in those peeped-at spaces and places, are peeping back with curiosity equivalent to one's own.
You and I, we've experienced that many times, haven't we?
Many there are who want to gain an understanding of what one is and where one is and how it is to be that way in that place or space, or in those places or spaces.
Usually, those who are after understanding are after verbalizable concepts, so that they can pigeon-hole or gadget-replicate whatever it is that they're curious about.
That's not to say that there is either anything terrible right or wrong about understanding whatever it is. What it is to say is that, with what you and I have experienced, translating the Songs of our Brothers and Sisters, the Great and Smaller Whales, or the scream of teeth-birds, or the roarings of other great predecessors of littler birds, the dinosaurs, is, at best, inefficient, and, at worst, gainful in actual experience of nothing at all useful.
You and I have discovered that some things need not be translated, haven't we?
Some there are who are in fleshplace fearjunkey stuck space, and some who are in stuck space about journeying, who perceive things in terms of overmuch significance upon what they term "civilization" and "literacy", meaning the ability to read with the fleshplace optics and comprehend linear print, or, for that matter, any kind of print.
You and I have discovered that there is more to seeing than reading with fleshplace optics, and that there is more to reading than comprehending mere print on a fleshplace page, haven't we?
More useful it would be for those described previously to expand their experience of reading, to include reading and seeing and getting for more and far less than mere print.
We are not talking about vicarious experience of any kind when we speak of transformations or the Transformation, are we?
Except when we are.
Intellectuals and conceptualists and others belief-stuck may find great rewards in questing for Australian Aboriginal Dream Time, or in seeking the voyages of Hopis.
It is appropriate not to look at what they don't have; It is again appropriate to ask what The Old Ones have forgotten.
Then again, our fleshplace culture has a deplorable habit of being indifferent to Senior Citizens, doesn't it?
A lot of The Old Ones have not forgotten as much as some may think, either. They are amused at us, when they are not being plagued and/or irritated by our shenanigans.
Another thing to find out from The Old Ones is what they no longer need: That's how come they've forgotten and not not forgotten.
And who are the oldest of the Old Ones?
Aha! You and I know them well: The Great and Smaller Whales! The Ones wise as little children in the fleshplace.
And what are we doing to These, the most serene of the Living in the fleshplace?
Make no mistake, they too have a soap opera: The Killer Whales are their Mafia, along with a few other gangsters of their own kind.
Curiosity seekers who grumble as they experience what is here to experience, may find richness in reading the seasons in leaves. Can there ones read the angelic message in a Blackwidow Spiderweb? Or perhaps the archangelic message in the webs of all arachnida?
Can the curiosity-seekers read the dance of the DNA, and see its shadow in the Caduceus?
Those who can will see what cultural adolescence now abounds in the fleshplace.
And in reading, what do curiosity-seekers expect? Who are the ancestors of the Great and Smaller Whales?
Should we tell them, or let them find out?
If we tell them to look in the mirror, they will be as belief-stuck as ever, and they won't get quite what it is and was anyway.
Looking glasses are better, though they are still looking glasses.
Letting them remember is better still.
And of codes and keys: What of the Red Lion, The Elixir? The stuck ones will melt pennies and try for gold.
Even those who goose-chase or even by chance find this, even they may continue to observe what comes up for them:
All there are in the fleshplace and upon many other levels and in many other spaces and places are problems, after all.
You and I, we've discovered that already.
Should we tell them that the Magical Words are, "So What?"
Aha! They may even get stuck here!
Ah, you and I, we have had to remember something stated here before: Ego is the nagging spouse.
Ego tells stories. Ego identifies with whatever is going on as itself, and whatever it is out there, or inside the fleshtube, as either aiding, attacking, or of no consequence. Ego is unconscious sometimes, even then often insisting it's intensely conscious, when it's not beating itself up for being unconscious. Ego is right and wrong. Ego laughs and boo-hoo's. Ego insists it is the Being, and/or that it can never get there and that it's all bullshit.
Ego validates and invalidates. Ego gets agreement and, failing that, will garner disagreement. Ego thinks it can vote when it already has way back there on the tape, or when Being already has. Ego, when busted for acting as the nagging spouse, will sometimes attempt to masquerade as the whining child, the good child, the parent, the nagging aunt or uncle, the doting and adoring one.
Ego gets stuck in ruts, the worst one often being the insistence that it is "a free spirit".
Ego is sometimes superstitious, if not always.
Just occasionally, ego aligns with what Being already knows and has always known. Sometimes it even does this for what you and I know as a very long time, in fleshplace terms. This is so whether the individual in question has garnered praise or a straightjacket; or both in some sort of sequence or even at once.
Remember the three tiepins.
Then, ego can jump off of the alignment, misleading the individual and/or any others whose votes it has gained during the alignment period.
Something else works that you and I both know: What is it?
When we're doing it, ego may feel more in control that ever before; or it may (in the twinkling of an eye) change and feel that it is totally influenced by Being.
Ego chatters, screams, shuts up, has body sensations, is numb, remembers things, forgets things. Ego has standards, even if one of them is having no standards. Sometimes, ego gets that it survives by becoming possessed: This means opting for maximum survival at the expense of aliveness.
They tell many people in primary school that Columbus, presuming that the world is round, discovered some place called America.
They make it sound as if he were the first one to think of the world as round, in a time when all the others thought it flat. They make it sound as if he really did discover something we call The New World and label it America or The Americas. They make it sound as if the previous terms are accurate.
Certainly, many presumed the world was flat in the time of whomever Columbus was. People may have even gotten barbecued over asserting anything different. Certainly, the terms New World and America taste like accuracy on the conscious and unconscious tongues of many right now.
Who are they just mentioned, anyway?
What about the terms? Who gave them accuracy?
What about accuracy anyway?
Now, take a subject like The Nature of Man. You and I could give the others a game to play, couldn't we?
The same game we just played with Columbus and America.
Whom would the scholars find to enshrine next, and for what?
In the firestorm, in the deep electric blue, in the pedestrian places, and in the places of standing still and of infinite running, the Transformation already is. It includes, permeates, transcends, is immanent and at-one with everyone and everything.
That's so whether one believes in it or not.
You and I, we have not given ourselves or the others much to believe in, have we?
No we've given them a great deal at which to yell, "Bullshit!"
Hey, you others, what is all that at which you believe you're yelling "Bullshit!"?
Have a look at that, even while it's going on and you're yelling.
Actually, believing in the Transformation is pointless: Doing so is a mirror-offset experience.
If it's really so, it's superfluous to believe in it.
Believing in something, one can easily miss experiencing it.
The Transformation works for those who do what works.
To those who are still peeping, we may whisper a suggestion:
Keep watching -- EVERYTHING!
And when you're not watching, watch yourself not watch.
Aha! Don't even get stuck on that one!
In journeying in the great spaces, in the small spaces, in the velvet and electric blue, and the deep-sea rainbows, where daylight is darkness and darkness daylight, you and I have found something else out both easily and the hard way; and we've forgotten and remembered and forgotten and remembered. In the journeys here in the fleshplace or there in the other places and spaces, whatever we're going to do with it next is precisely that -- whatever we do with it next.
That's what makes it so captivating.
Ah, how easy it is to be familiar with the fleshplace. And after a while, you and I have become familiar with the other places. Here and in the other places, being familiar, whether at ease or not, amasses a residue of tapes of undergoings we call common sense -- a bundle of mirror-offset, occasionally omni-embracing yet finite sense pictures that work till they don't.
That's what we've found out, and that's not all. However, it is worthwhile to uncreate common sense as a barrier.
For instance, to common sense, it looks like the world is the center of the universe, and like the sun and everything else travels around it. It really looks to common sense like Ptolemy had it all figured out.
The world looks flat, down close, to those who've never flown in the fleshplace. Now, after Astronauts have gone to the Moon, some of those here get that it's common sense to believe that the world is approximately round. Some still don't believe it.
To common sense, brand new cars, or many other things made of metal, and many made of concrete, look and feel totally permanent, totally solid. Those junkeyed on common sense really get to believe whatever it is that common sense senses.
That's about it: Common sense is stuckness based upon belief. Sometimes it's aligned with what is; sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's not aligned and the importance of it being not aligned does not emerge till an emergency.
Bucky has said it: It works to be ready for emergencies.
To those operating upon what they believe is common sense, who insist upon not remembering that they've flown to levels beyond the fleshplace, the nature of man appears to be corporeal: although the life element remains a mystery, and a lot of the fleshplace stuck put beliefs there. Some of them even have experiences, which they may get so vividly that they "try" to get others to believe them. If these experiences are replicable in physical results, what results is either something fleshplace types call "technological advancement" or, if what results garners enough belief and agreement, and is replicated in some other way by enough of the others, it is termed "miraculous". Other than these, fleshplace stuck people have experiences, attempt to get the belief-agreement of others, and often end up with their votes cancelled for their trouble.
Thus, they pitfall into putting their experiences into silver boxes, and get all combative and serious and heaved-up about them, playing agreement-disagreement ping-pong on various levels; all of which is mirror-offset space. The experience comes to pass, and those who experienced it attempt to hang onto it.
The experience is and was the experience. The hangers-on end up humming or whistling "The Way We Were" a whole lot.
Ah, you and I can hear them again: Some are clamoring, "But if we don't believe in things, how do we keep them?"
In all the rainbows, in all the dullness, in all the commercials, in all the video-expectation, they see no alternative.
Clearly, there is experience. Clearly, there is memory.
Ah, again we hear clamoring: "Memorizing things is hard. We may have to take a memory course."
Aha! Memory courses are fine stuff for the nagging spouse (and we're not making nagging spouses wrong for being what they are). Remembering is all the ego-mind has to do. It's easy for those who intend it to be easy.
The nagging spouse may enjoy a good memory course. That will be fun if the nagging spouse does it for fun. It's not really necessary for the kind of thing you and I are whispering about here, though.
Getting that one is already in touch with experience, works. Being optional about significance is of assistance.
Being optional about significance means being able to get off of agreement-disagreement needs, which, thanks to the three tiepins, is possible even when one is
stuck on them, simply by watching oneself be stuck on them.
You and I notice that some are getting an aha! which they may get stuck on: Watching oneself means acknowledging responsibility, and there is no one lifestyle, mannerism complex, or out-ward ego-behavior which can be guaranteed as a surety label that a given individual or group have got it. Playing "in-crowds" versus "out-crowds" is for sure a stuckness place.
So are compulsively being the same as- or different from- any given individual or group (including states and nations).
We all have got it, when one gets down or up or in or out or moving or standing still to it: This is still so, even when one doesn't.
The reverse is also true: There is no one lifestyle, mannerism complex, or outward ego-behavior which can be guaranteed as a surety label that a given individual or group have not got it.
For sure, there are some groups and individuals who have blown it: Take the Notsees.
How do we know this? By their works.
Also, all of us had a little nagging hunch, which we paid varying degrees of attention or unconsciousness to, which even they had. (Look at all the secret police.)
That little intuition or hunch or silence (that can also be a screaming loud voice): That's natural knowing -- that's remembering.
We get to hang out with it, don't we?
Still, they had it. Otherwise, how could they have blown having it?
It is appropriate to remember to watch out when one finds oneself compelled to run around swatting flies outdoors.
Something is rotten: Expectation is not aligning with intention, or the other way around.
You and I have discovered something about expectations and intentions, haven't we?
Expectations (which we sometimes label intentions) do not always turn out to be intentions, which always are what manifests in results. Conversely, intentions (which we sometimes label expectations) always turn out.
So intentions can be appreciated for what they are in past tense. Expectations may or may not align with intentions. Sometimes we get to remember what our intentions are, and know in advance what will manifest.
When we realize intentions we don't like, we can choose for them to have happened and move on.
When we resist choosing for them to have happened, we get embroiled in belief-disbelief/agreement-disagreement, shove-it-under-the-rug-and-fail-or-be-successful ping-pong, don't we?
Aliveness is something else again.
The Transformation is already here -- already complete, inevitable in manifestation. People sometimes get hung up in mirrors about what its indicators are: Either they presume that the indicators must be according to customs, traditions and conventions; or they may get hung up presuming that indicators must be counter to customs, traditions, and conventions.
Actually the Transformation is within and without both.
And what are the Transformation's indicators?
To those who confront them coming from belief, they are unbelievable in direct proportion to the degree to which the mirror-offset of belief fails to predict what's right here and just ahead, by reflecting what just was right here and is just behind.
To those who confront them coming from experience, they can be both gee-whizzes and so-what's, depending upon the used-to-ness or absence of it associated with the particular kind of confront an indicator may have connected with it in the experience of a given group or individual; also, depending upon the ability of a given group or individual to take responsibility for and process any upsets resulting from confronts that may occur.
In any case, it works not to get stuck on indicators, nor upon what might be presumed to be contraindicators, regardless of one's reactions.
You and I have found that out, haven't we?
Actually, the Transformation's indicators may be enticing or repugnant, again depending upon the significance one has put upon them.
Again, it works to observe everything.
Again, it works not to get stuck.
Celebrating and/or mourning is not getting stuck, unless one insists upon hanging onto.
So, common sense is to be held suspect.
Not rejected, just held suspect.
Noticed, acknowledged, and held suspect.
We brought up Columbus and his alleged discovery. What did it mean to flatlanders?
You and I might also mention the crystal set and the creation/discovery (Take your pick!) of frequency modulation. Aha! Many radio-video messages can be conveyed on many frequencies. And we still had many stations on the one broadcast band without frequency modulation.
Now, take radio bands not as a mirror -- instead, take them as a glass to look through, all the time remembering the limitations of words and how analogies can be made false -- and look at The Nature of Man.
Is being human still an only?
Hang out with it.
Now, tell the truth:
Just how much power does one individual have anyway?
What are you doing on the Game Board?
Where rainbows and things in the fleshplace and other places are formed, and where they are dissolved, is a place called The Abyss. I go there often. Actually, all of us never really leave it. It permeates everything.
In the tongue called English, the words going, coming, and the terms up to, down to, into, out to, as well as many others, can be misleading. So it is for other words in other tongues.
If I were to tell you what The Abyss is like to me, I would mislead you, if you were to fixate upon my experience as a standard or an only. Conversely, if you were to tell me what The Abyss is like to you, and I were to fixate upon your experience as a standard or an only, I would be mislead.
Unless, of course, in either case you and/or I should happen to get that what's so for one is what's so experientially for the other. The key is to let the mind-held standards and onlys come and go, do what they're going to do, and not what they're not.
Certainly it works, when one is stuck, to acknowledge it, thereby putting a minus equal to the plusness of the stuckness in its way, thereby canceling it in direct proportion of the stuckness alignment, in the truth-acknowledging process, of the minus declaration to the plus-situation to be uncreated.
To do this, you and I have discovered that it is often necessary to be resolved totally (resigned implies resistance, though it's a start) for the stuckness never to go away, if that's what it feels like. Otherwise, we have both discovered that acknowledging what's so becomes like waiting for the kettle of expectations to boil, and the wait seems interminable till it does, if it ever does.
Anyhow, The Abyss can be a place empty and lonely as a pair of railroad tracks stretching either way to nowhere. It can be silence that sings, and deadness that roars with life.
It is the source of the quintessence of everything, just when one has fully acknowledged, fully told the truth about having gotten nothing.
What forms of the Transformation come from The Abyss?
It's our choice and it's yours.
Let us whisper some more.
What of Northern Ireland? Does violence brew in the sugar offered in hospitality? Does the ghost of the Viking berserker return to haunt my cousins (on both sides) through the channel of the cookie dish and the sugar jar and the war-water jug?
Does sugar in the tea at morning and afternoon craze the blood?
Is this an Agreement?
Have a look.
It has been stated by some, and unconsciously assumed by many, that much of the urban culture now existing in the United States is sexual. How is this so when the fleshplace stuck put so many pricetags on plumbing?
How is this so when the fleshplace stuck display male and female bodies as commodities and commercially stimulating agents which fire artificial need?
If the United States is to be sexual, it must be sexually balanced: From whence cometh the pelvic anger and the breast anger? Whither all the cancer?
Have a look.
You and I should ask something else of those who would acknowledge that they already journey in the Abyss. First, we will present a given: All there is for anyone is freedom and consequences.
Ah, the minds of the egos! Can you hear them chatter?
At any rate, to play the game of The Abyss, the first thing to get is that freedom and consequences are a given.
To test this, look at the results achieved by so-called "liberation movements". By putting liberation there as a have-not, they miss the point that what they're after is the modification of consequences of being, doing, and having.
Coming into freedom from slavery, ego often wears the habit-crusts of having been in chains. Is it not wondrous how ego can create new chains from nothing more or less than unrecognized, unacknowledged old habits?
The previous leads to the following: "Pursuit of happiness" originally meant happiness-generating pursuits.
What does it mean to many now?
By making satisfaction unreachable and incredible, by sticking a carrot of satisfaction before the nose of the consumer, what have we all put upon satisfaction by making it penultimate, orgasmic, and unreachable?
Is this "the only way to fly", or just another way to be stuck?
Have a look.
What happens when we make something a big no-no?
Might there be an alternative between making something undesirable a big no-no and a big yes-yes?
Might it be possible to make it a so-what?
Hang out with it.
Is consumerism appropriate or is it at-effect victim-victimizer space?
When many are still operating in mirrors from a position of not-enough, what are they programming which they believe will make something unstuck?
For sure, people are producing and consuming. What is legislating on this do when all don't align with the legislation?
Could we have consumers and producers as so-what functions and responsibility as a that's-what context?
You and I and the others get to choose to create whatever.
Hang out with it.
What are the effect-chain ethics of buying a motorized vehicle built with the chemical augmentation of twelve or so tons of the finest Appalachian coal (or its equivalent), which can only carry two people somewhat comfortably, and one or two in far less comfort, with four-hundred horsepower (or with smog chokers a bit less, and still way more than necessary), factories next to the potentially flaming Cuyahoga River, which said vehicle is painted flaming red with deathbird striping, just to drive down the park- or freeway or through the mountains at less that one-half of its potential speed legally allowed?
Hang out also with what you and I have already discovered many times the hard way: Making the consumer or the producer wrong by making what they do a big no-no, merely puts the problem there even more intensely than it was.
Going the bang-bang-you're-dead revolutionary route does the same; only makes the others play cap-guns for real by mirror-offset.
We know how clouds move in gaseous space; we know how liquids interact in liquid space; we have rediscovered land-oceans with the acknowledgement of the Agreement about plate-tectonics.
Does it or does it not work to design dwellings and other buildings by something like ship specifications?
Who discovered this?
Hang out with it.
Coats of arms were us-versus-them identifiers in the time of Charlemagne, when armor cost a great deal, and hard charging was the way to solidify agreement-disagreement ping-pong.
In the Lands of the Free, what are heraldic shields used for? Emblems of identification upon prestige vehicles and others.
What does this have to do with ego-minds' creations from nothing but chain-habit?
Have the Amish and the Black-Bumper Mennonites and their Kin already brought down wisdom we could all use regarding these and other reflective surfaces?
Can the ethical be made enticing and tempting?
Is it already enticing and tempting?
You and I get to choose, and keep on choosing what we've chosen, don't we?
The delightful thing about the Transformation is that no one needs to be converted to it:
One may shield oneself from pouring rain, and soon there is a need called thirst.
One may shield oneself from too much sun, and soon there is a need for warmth.
One may hide oneself from the light in darkness, and even there, lights turn on -- one way or the other.
Thus, one of the changes brought about by the Transformation is in the way the Game Board is played:
Being now knows that it has always known that ego-layers are costume; therefore, Being now knows that it always has known that it wears and is the frame, or context, for ego-layers as costume, or content. This way, everything remaining the same is and was and will be utterly changed: The Transformation is outside of time.
Once, in a time now mere illusion before, emergencies brought about change: Now, the Game is to uncreate emergencies by foresight and implementation.
Aha! You and I can hear them, can't we?
Some of those who are ego-chatter stuck on have-pleasure contrasted with have-not-pain, or have/have-not painpleasure/pleasurepain, are clamoring "Bullshit!" again.
Behind that, they possibly fear that there is a space filled with boredom, if emergencies are uncreated.
Indeed, there may be; and there are levels beyond that, immediately reachable:
When one solves problems on lower levels, one gets to solve them on higher levels.
There is joy in this beyond both hope and despair.
Anyhow, the new competition, the new race for space, the new rivalry is to uncreate rivalry. Those who accept this already know it. Those who resist it will create its joy being thrust upon them.
Everybody gets to win.
In the myriad levels and frequencies of spaces and places, the now-dance reigns through all. In the place where night and day are one, differences in doctrines are dissolved in the process of aligned experience.
Wake in the dawn, arise in the night, set out at mid-day and go walking! The fireflower flows myriad, as all in the fleshplace remember and relive Times of Journeying.
You and I are journeying together, experiencing life in each moment's palm-frond essence, as it passes from the now-shadow, to the nanosecond gate of just-then's domain.