The point of it all: memory shared

Lion_(2016_film)I keep thinking back to the film “Lion” (2016)  and how clearly the man Saroo remembers his childhood in India where he lived until he was five….before he got lost; how he is able to walk, in his mind’s eye, the route back from the train station along a dusty track and through a maze of buildings to his home, can see every detail of the reservoir where they bathed, the outlines of trees particular to that location, the very texture and colour of the soil. In this film based on a true story, Saroo gets lost on a train and is subsequently adopted by a couple in Australia, spending the next 25 years piecing back together those memories to feed the ever growing urge to trace his real family. In fact, he becomes obsessed with it; those memories more vivid, sometimes, than his everyday life. A world apart from where he has been  raised in relative affluence in Tasmania, he can flip back to that other world in his head in a split second, using it (ultimately) to pinpoint “where he came from” using Google Earth to zoom in and recognise landmarks from above.

Astonishing, although I know I can sometimes flash back to an incredibly vivid experience (“like I am there”) of the subtlest sights and sounds of early childhood; able to ride a certain feeling, a frequency, to get me there. To a degree, we probably all have this connection to the place where we felt most cherished, safe or like we belong; are able to go back to some places much more vividly than we can recall others that we pass by every day of the week, even if we have not visited for a very long time. It’s as though we tune in to a certain frequency and we are taken there remotely, outside of space and time, to where we can walk through all the sensory details in real-time in our minds.

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My grandmother and two of her three children (my mother, left) in India

My mother also lived in India for the first 7 years of her life from when she was just a handful of months old; it was all she knew until that ocean liner (which she seemed to remember most of all) brought her “home” to England in 1935. Yet, by contrast, she didn’t seem to want to remember those years, like she couldn’t bring them back into her mind; though I always sensed she recollected far more than she was letting on. It was like getting blood out of a stone to get her to talk about those days and all she would ever do was sort of shudder as she told me there was nothing much to tell me except there was dust, heat and squalor. She would always repeat her horror at seeing foot prepared on the side of the road but where was all the rest; the kind of things my uncle later told me? This selective amnesia made a chalkboard of the first seven years of her life, like she had simply scrubbed them away with one emphatic sweep of her hand. These were the same  formative years about which the Jesuits declared with such confidence “give me a child until they are seven and I will give you the man” yet she insisted they had made no impression on her at all. Is that possible?

So did they inform her in other ways, pushed down deep inside as an aversion that informed her experiences in other ways? Did they, perhaps, even come up in me? Is this how inherited fears become part of our biological make-up; a vibrational code that we hand down to future generations like a particular tune strummed on the harp-strings of our DNA? Did her strong feelings of alienation and dislike of heat and dust reemerge inside of me, manifested as the down-side of my bizarrely see-sawing impulses: do I want to see India or don’t I? One minute, it is on my bucket list, the next I find the idea completely abhorrent and have all of my excuses ready. Passionately yes and passionately no; its like I am being torn in two opposite directions. Is this how it is when we hand our fears on down the line, birthing generations who don’t truly know what is theirs anymore? This is something I came up against, a couple of years ago, when I was researching into my father’s side of the family, visiting places where they lived during the era when they transitioned from relative comfort and rural security to abject poverty in the workhouse and then exodus to an alien place where they got sucked into the industrial machine, working in steelworks and down coal mines. Standing at the workhouse gate where they lost all their dignity, back-tracing how those deeply bedded fears around money, loss and survival landed and manifested in my father’s DNA and became distinct character traits that I recognise in our gene pool long after they had relevance, was a cathartic thing for me. It helped me to understand some of the traits that my father and I share (especially those I once resented him for “giving me”) so much better than I had ever done in his lifetime.

Certainly, there are a couple of significant traumas from my earlier life that I have never discussed with my daughter but which, as themes, she has observable responses to. By this I mean that I observe in her very strong aversions or fierce opinions relating to things about which she should have next to no opinion or knowledge at her tender age and so there is no other logical explanation than that she learned these “safe-guarding” reactions from me, without word or demonstration. Is this how we pass on our cursory tales; via the womb and the fear coding written into our DNA? In my own life, I’ve done what I can to identify and sift out “the inherited” from the “authentically mine” in recent years and its been like shedding a huge bag of rocks from my cells.

It’s fair to say, in my own life, I have come to experience memory as something much more to do with vibration and resonance than anything local to my biology. When I read Dr Carl Johan Calleman’s book “The Global Mind and the Birth of Civilization”, a large piece of this innate though, as yet, undeveloped understanding fell into place as he described memory as, potentially, a non-local phenomenon stored in the crystalline structure of our planet. This made so much sense in light of everything I had come to intuit, especially via all the profound experiences I have had in places I had never previously been “in this life”, certain power-points where memory seemed to shoot up like molten lava from beneath my feet, and where I sometimes felt as though I was being flooded with familiar data, ghostly memories of…well, I don’t know what exactly (nor did I know if they were actually mine, or if they were projections of a collective mind, with which I was somehow “in tune”). At first it became hard not to identify with such experiences, like I was tripping out on a grand psychedelic tour of my own past lives; but then I began to regard it all as far less personal than all that, more like tuning in to a shared resonance to find I fit into all these places in a way that is interchangeable with countless other beings who could, just as easily, step into my shoes and tune in to those very same vibrations (hence the great draw of some of these places; “sacred” places where we find ourselves). Perhaps it was the place and not the person that held the memory, I began to wonder…and yes, what I read in this book made so much sense. After all, how could I carry so much memory around in my head and how come certain coordinates on a map seem more powerful than others; leylines and sacred spots, places where the earth seems to pucker and fold so much that its innards come close to the surface. What if the earth was a giant crystal holding all of it for all of us; Calleman’s book made considerable sense of what I had been playing with for some time.

In some places, I know, I have tuned in with far more resonance than in others; those places I particularly “liked”. Certainly there are places where we seem to willingly add to the stockpile of local “high-vibe” memories; places where we live with our families or, in broadest sense, “tribe” and spend most fulfilling times. These places can seem to glow with a certain energy long after the people have dispersed. Yet I already knew, somehow, that it was all about being the mobile radio receiver and finding, in these places, that there was music playing on my own favourite channel, which happened whenever the signal was most pristine so that I seemed to receive it with most clarity, colour and joy. And if I didn’t like the “music” coming through or if it sounded like the hiss and grind of some other frequency that wasn’t mine…time to step away to where my own vibration found its match. This method of interfacing with “place” has been my most reliable guide to everywhere that I have chosen to go for more years than I knew why I was doing it; and I’ve grown pretty good at it, listening to it attentively. I’ve also found that resonance with a particular place can change over time and that different places meet us at different parts of our journey; yet it is this key understanding, that it is the two-way relationship, and that it is much more than just our own personal stuff that we tune into, that makes a real difference. Seen beyond the personal, memory becomes a connection device; it’s what interlinks us all in ways that are complex and meaningful.

You have to admit, it makes so much more sense to consider that we amass our considerable, collective memories in some kind of supermassive computer chip to which we all have access than that we carry them around in our heads. In other words, the mind is not a product of the brain but of something outside of itself – a global mind – to which we contribute our own unique experiences. It helps explain how our memories seem to cross over with those of other people (even those we have barely met), how we can remotely access the same experiences in more than one place, even more potently in some places than others and how, when our receiving equipment malfunctions in some way, we receive interrupted service or can cease to tune into the channel of ourselves for much longer periods – as in Alzheimer’s or after an injury or illness. It’s not that the memories that make us who we think we are go anywhere, it’s that our receiver wires have become damaged…or have furred up like old kettle elements, or cut themselves off to protect us from further trauma…and so we lose access to all the amalgamated data regarding who we think we are, in the same way that we would if a satellite was down when we were googling information. This approach (which has been my own approach throughout a decade of intermittent and temporary, but sometimes distressing, memory lapse due to the severe brain fog of fibromyalgia…) offers such optimism since it means that, in healing ourselves, we can reconnect with all that we once knew about ourselves and each other, collectively. We can go back on-line with as much, if not more, clarity of signal than we started with by polishing up our own “wires”, making different life choices, healing ourselves in overt and more subtle ways. This approach says there is nothing really absent when we can’t remember (we use that phrase “absent minded” like something has actually left) nor is everything scrubbed from our hard drive never to return (since it wasn’t really stored there in the first place); its just that our radio equipment requires attention so it can regain the ability to tune into the appropriate “channel” connecting us to where memory is stored, offsite (not locally in the brain). Yes, losing memory can be horribly distressing yet I feel sure that healers will take leaps in understanding this, so that they can help people regain “lost” memory, over the next few decades.

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“A significantly different image emerges for the two hemispheres, with the quasi-western side of the EIC made of well-separated patches of different kinds of iron phases. On the contrary, the quasi-eastern hemisphere appears less discriminating with a spotty-like distribution of points.” Candy Wrapper for the Earth’s Inner Core

But then studies have shown that the earth is not uniformly crystalline; that it varies between east and west hemispheres divided, in Dr Calleman’s opinion, by the twelfth degree longitude line (this point is made amply in his book “The Global Mind and the Rise of Civilization”). From the study shown left “According to this model, the western hemisphere is crystallizing and the eastern hemisphere is melting”. Distinct iron phases seem to occur in the western hemisphere whereas in the eastern, it would appear, these distinct phases are absent or more than one phase could be said to apply at the same time, described as “elastic”. Moreover, as you might expect, waves travel quite differently through these varying structures. The west is tightly compartmentalized (that word I seem to be using a lot these days when I talk about the left hemisphere of the brain) and is that a coincidence? In Calleman’s view, the planet we live upon is a global mind that exists as the some sort of Mother version of each of our individualised human brains, with the same hemispherical division going on. In such a viewpoint, what happens to one affects what happens to the other (and thus, all of us) since they are, from this stance, one and the same; which fits exactly with my own view that we are localised expressions of Oneness inherently connected by our common humanity. Our planet has always felt like she is so much more than an insentient rock, a resource to be plundered, as our culture (especially in the west…) has liked to depict her. In plundering her resources, we have only ever been stealing from ourselves.

When and how do we tune into the core of earth? “When we engage in higher mental activities, our brain cells typically oscillate in the gamma frequency range which means they are in resonance with the most structured part of Earth, its inner core: at the 40 Hz frequency typical of crystal-clear cognitive functions or memorizing, our brains are in resonance with the boundary surface of the crystalline inner core of Earth. The close-packed hexagonal or cubic crystalline structure in this may then hypothetically provide support for compartmentalized thinking, computation and even the storage of memories” (Calleman – “The Global Mind and the Rise of Civilization”).

So, potentially, the way that we store, and have access to, memory comes into this intriguing picture of what the core of our planet looks like, which is only just emerging. But, as we have just seen, some parts of the Earth’s core are much less compartmentalized than others, so how does this alter the nature of the memories that we have access to? And what part, if any, does the Schumann Resonance play in all this; if recent speculation about it rising to new (gamma) levels holds any substance, are we being plunged deeper into the planet’s memory core, retrieving parts of ourselves we may have buried “in” there for posterity, forcing us to (in effect) clear out the depths of our basement? Is this the shake up that pre-empts our next stage of evolution as we enter the Ninth Wave? What might this look like on the world stage; are we already seeing it play out in world events? Are we seeing it occur as, in effect, the east makes new headway while the structures of the west plunge into, well, some kind of meltdown? Certainly if east and west differ in crystalline structure, we could expect that difference to play out at the surface level (as, historically, it has) for, to quote Calleman “Only if the brain is in resonance with a geological structure with clearly defined compartments, such as a crystal, are its waves likely to be localized to specific brain compartments”. What happens if that crystal structure is undergoing changes during our lifetime; perhaps one side crystallizing more while the other becomes more flux? Is this the softening of hemispherical divisions; a sort of leveling process to meet in the middle – in our brains (perhaps also at a planetary scale) – that I keep talking about via my own experiences?

According to Barbara Hand Clow: “The first dimension is the iron-core crystal, which vibrates at 40-60 cycles per second, and remarkably, while in trance, the brain waves have been measured at exactly the same frequency? The person in trance is synchronizing with the centre of the Earth…As far as I can see, the alternate reality just opens up when humans pulse with the planet(Awakening the Planetary Mind: Beyond the Trauma of the Past to a New Era of creativity – Barbara Hand Clow). In her opinion, our connection to that first dimension is every bit as crucial to our evolution as hooking up with those higher dimensions we seem so fixed upon. Certainly, in my own experience, working with and, in a sense, befriending the first and second dimensions (using her invaluable handbook, “The Alchemy of Nine Dimensions”) has contributed to my own healing journey, grounding me in a new and much more profound way than I was managing to achieve before. When we heal, we are often called to delve into places we never wanted to delve before, places we had (at some level) been avoiding, yet this can be the most cathartic thing to do

Perhaps, as part of our mass healing, we are on the verge of being flooded by the over-spilling contents of our own global memory bank (likely, coming as more of a shock to the tightly-organised sensibilities of the west than in the east; played out as the cathartic dramas of our lives, our politics, the great surge of reveal and leaked information that is underway). Like the opening of any Pandora’s Box, this might very well start with a certain amount of overwhelm and trauma as a wave of vile “stuff” we really didn’t ever want to see again comes pouring out of the world closet. In amongst the waves of shock-factor torrent all those old cultural and pseudo-religious grudges nursed since long before we can remember why they ever occurred in the first place and so we get triggered into all kinds of hostility that looks like conflict, chaos and meltdown. Is meltdown the right word? Well yes, perhaps it is that very thing; the volcanic lava-spill of the hand-me-down hatred of our forefathers spewing out from toxic sores where it has been compressed and stored out of sight (if ever-present) for way too long. Perhaps through these old grudges and wounds being allowed to see the light of day (since none of what we are seeing is new; it has just become more visible) we can quickly apply our higher consciousness to these obsolete old rubs and dissipate the toxic load of them. When we continue to harbour one man’s hatred of another and all the unspoken fear around that, the lack of love for one another, in our depths, those feelings risk becoming the cancer we come to rue further down the line. Like any detox, our memory needs to be brought out into the open to be healed. Transparency, communication, receptivity, flexibility, a sense of self beyond the material…all the key instruments of the right hemisphere…are here to help us sort through the heinous mess that spills out onto our floor from the boxes of our mind. Like most clear-outs, it generally gets worse before it gets better but at least we are clearing right to the very basement of our memory store…and what do we find there? That we are all, fundamentally, the same. So, yes, if we must have fundamentalism of any kind on this planet let this be it…a belief in our fundamental kinship and that we are all one.

What does accessing a memory feel like; how do we do it in such different ways? I know, when I studied history at school, I used to have to pin my memories of data to a visual landscape that I could “see” in my mind, making up mental cartoons and comic word prompts to help me recall complicated names and dates. It’s a device I’ve used all my life; engaging my right brain to assist with my ability to access the compartments of information I had stored on the left; the visual aspect of my learning device serving like a magic password to gain access through the door of the vault. Conversely, when inspiration comes flooding in, I feel like I have to grab it and pin it down with concepts and words before it slips away; and if I don’t catch it on time, like a butterfly in a net, it’s really gone. No amount of rationalizing will bring it back since it arrived without such a rational basis shoring it up; so I find myself blur-eyed  in the mornings, trying to type words even before my brain is ready for action lest they should disappear again. More like a vapour floating in a window than a progression of rational thoughts, I feel so blessed when such true inspiration arrives but I can never schedule for it to happen. In both cases, the one hemisphere works all the better for having access to the other; a collaboration of skills that either unlocks the memory box or nets the butterfly.

Does memory “work” more like that vapour wafting in on a breeze in the eastern hemisphere; are mental constructs only there to shore up those feelings that first fluttered in, rather than leading the march of progression, insisting upon driving and organising what we allow ourselves to recall to a strict set of material priorities as is the way in the west? Does that explain a well-documented sense of tipping out all our preconceived ideas and changing our priorities, even turning things inside out, when we travel to the east; one that can feel like a spiritual epiphany? Calleman asks “Is it not true that when we retrieve a memory we have the feeling that we are “going somewhere else” to search for it? Are we searching our brains to find it, which is the established viewpoint? Or are we searching crystal matrices in Earth’s inner core?”. If this is true then do those first few years we spent as children, gathering and organising the first of our memories, determine the kind of storage system we relate to; are the structured hexagons and cubes of the west very different-feeling to the relative elasticity of the east and are they like different formats of technology…one will not work with the equipment of the other?

So, when my mother sailed back to England from India as a seven year-old child, did she (in effect) leave her memories behind her in the east as she sailed up the Suez Canal? Did they not fit into the structures of where she subsequently lived so she discarded them; wrote them off as a misfit? If she had ever gone back there as an adult, would her childhood memories have opened up like a Pandora’s Box to which she suddenly had the key? Certainly, she had a strong dislike for the smell of Indian food if we ever walked past a restaurant, like it tripped her up or threw her off her equilibrium. Yet we had artifacts from those times around our house, elephants and Buddha’s, and she would lose herself in a trance as she polished them as though quite lost in another world. She treated them with such reverence as she cleaned, which became a fond ritual with which I helped her; and yet the words I longed for when I asked “tell me more about India” could not be spoken. She also became, I vividly recall, unspeakably angry when she discovered an uncle had thrown away photo albums from those times. Perhaps all she lacked, for such unstructured memories, being so young when she gathered them, were the words with which to give them form and perhaps they could not be subjected to the same “left brain” treatment as those other memories that came later without, somehow, losing them altogether. Had she had those pictures to show me…now that might have been a different matter.

Perhaps, as something largely intangible, memory relies on a collaboration with “substance” (objects, prompts…) in order to manifest as form in our three-dimensional world; a sort of partnership that enables it to surface from its storage-place at the core of our planet. So, in the east, does memory attach to different things to those with which it closely collaborates in the west? Is the eastern version of memory, in some sense, the exoskeleton worn for all to know about, a heart worn on a sleeve, compared to this thing we like to hide inside the boxes of our minds (and wrapped up in our material possessions…) in the western hemisphere? In such an inside-out perspective to what we have tended to consider our western norm, does memory flesh out like plump fruit whereas our own becomes the whirls and knots of something externally hard and finite like the insides of a walnut. If so, to what is it memory attaches there: tradition, faith, family, honour, love, maybe all these things, shown off and expressed, celebrated and honoured, in a much-more overt way as part of everyday life? In the west, do we make memory more subservient to the outward trappings and arrangements of material wealth, identity, success, control and possession; preferring to tuck the memories themselves well out of sight (though they continue to inform us in all kinds of ways, at the subconscious level)? Does our culture determine which route we go between these extremes, does it depend where we live, who we mix with, do we get to choose for ourselves, drawn to live in the places where the most comfortable stream of memory flows to feed our life-flame, like the steady jet of gas that turns on a lamp? If we suddenly switch from east to west as a child too young to have established the appropriate storage method for making us resilient and acceptable in the culture where we subsequently land, are our memories left stranded in no-man’s land; the unclaimed lost property of our lives? Perhaps my mother, having no cultural ties to India, had nowhere to keep her lasting memories of those years after she returned home to England and the loving bosom of grandparents and aunts that she always remembered with such fondness as the “normal” kinsfolk of her childhood; to whom India was a make-believe land. Like an old gramophone record in the digital era, she came home to find that her memories wouldn’t play on the “equipment” of her life and so she put them to one side and left them there.

So how did the boy in “Lion” keep his childhood memories of India intact, long after moving to a completely different culture? I suspect, because he attached them to his primary concept of Love. When he returned there in his mind’s eye, he found the family from whom he had been so abruptly separated and that kept him tied there, wanting to return after enough years had passed for many people to have forgotten what those people even looked like. A vibration of love played for him whenever he recalled the place and it kept it alive for him, kept him attached there, calling him back to a place in search of a feeling. Haven’t we all done that with somewhere that has had that effect?

And isn’t that, in essence, what memory is…a feeling attached to substance, be that place, object or person; it’s a particular frequency sent out by a cosmic broadcasting service that we dial up whenever we want to go there. My own journey through the swinging vagaries of my memory has enabled me to refine and polish my ability to remember who I am; not just from this life experience but from many others, which has the effect of softening the edges of them all. A viewpoint that memory is non-local and is just waiting to be claimed by me…that the only variable is my ability to dial in…fits perfectly with what I have experienced. The clarity of the signal received is affected by state of mind, diet, locality, time of day, openness and intention.  When I am feeling “high vibe” memory comes easily and without trauma, which corresponds with what Calleman says, which is that “when our minds go into high states of consciousness our brains attain a frequency corresponding to a sphere very close to the centre of the Earth, in the inner-inner core”. He then relates that connection to the Earth’s centre to the pineal gland, the “mind’s eye”,  which is at the centre point of the brain (and quite distinct in not being subject to the hemispherical division). In this place, memory is not about division; it is all about coming together.

Somewhere, somehow, faced with the vast global memory box that makes up our humanity and the jumble that it can all seem, is the potential to level it all to “what really matters” and what we can all relate to. It comes with the realisation that we have all been through versions of the same; that we are those versions of the same and that we care about the very same things. Like the blending of a zillion photographed faces, eventually the so-called differences find their likeness, softening around the edges until they all blend into one uniform…and incredibly beautiful…face of humanity. We find our own point; that point where we meet in the middle, and it is quite literally at the centre of all of us, where we all cross over and meet in the middle, beneath our feet.

Bit by bit, we do this thing by re-membering (= joining previously detached parts or “members” back onto ourselves) everything we know about ourselves collectively and at the deepest level of our memory bank, which holds an account balance containing many zeros and which we all share. It is the place where we are already millionaires; rich in love. We do this by eradicating all sources of fear…where they began…in our own hearts; bit by bit, in each portion of our life. Separation from one another melts away as we do this. As some feelings become more organised, others come spewing out of their boxes and we meet in the middle – where neither has to occur. We let go of our old stories by giving them some air. We consciously consider how we tell our fresh stories, in new ways, going forwards.

We build structure around memories whenever we tell our stories. How we tell our stories, whether they are written or spoken, told as stories of lack or stories of love, all makes a vast difference; these methods becoming the vehicles of softness or boxes with hard edges that carry those memories forwards. Where a story is told repeatedly but remains spoken not written, it remains soft, fluid, adaptable yet open to embellishment, even exaggeration, denial and abuse. When it is written, it can become brittle, strident, dogmatic inviolable; a weapon with sharp edges, a lid on our own expansiveness, a cage to our thoughts. In what new ways can we learn to hold our memories that take the best aspects of both methods yet avoiding what could become the next structure upon, or within, which the next cancer of humanity can grow, since where thought repeatedly goes, our next creations arise from? The more we repeat a particular story, the more it gains energy like a snowball rolling down a hill. The way we package what first began as a memory determines how adaptable it can be in the future, how malleable when it meets a contrary thought; in that circumstance, whether it sustains for good purpose or becomes the next rock that we simply throw back at ourselves. When two different methods of seeing the same thing meet, it can feel as though the very Earth puckers and cleaves; and, at some level, it does. We avoid this entirely when we meet at the middle, beyond such hemispherical variance.

Is that where we are heading; away from the hemispherical divide that has determined our history since the beginning of the Sixth Wave. Not necessarily because the very structures of the Earth are due to flip into opposites any time soon (though I suspect their differences will start to soften, meet in the middle, accordingly…) but because we get better at tuning into the planetary core, where we all share far more than we know. Perhaps we will all start to get “the point” of it all beyond geographical or cultural markers; will get together and join forces in the one place where it is truly possible to stand side-by-side without encroachment, in the shared mind-space that is the core of our planet and where we meet one another beyond the reaches of hemispherical division and duality. Will we all start to “get it” (this point) on the back of an evolutionary wave coming in after all rhetoric has failed, like we are awaking from a very “bad” dream? Is the alleged (even disputed) rise in the Schumann Resonance to the gamma range anything to do with this since the boundary surface of that inner-inner core “corresponds to a standing wave of 81 Hz, which places it at the higher end of gamma waves” (Calleman; in whose opinion “the theory that brain waves are connected to different shells of the Earth is the only one that explains why there are distinct brain wave ranges in the first place, and wy these wave ranges are limited by the particular frequencies that they are”).

Perhaps there, in that inner-inner core, the whole amalgam of everything we collectively remember is already held for us like the trust fund we are about to inherit and, who knows, all of our shared potential too. In our shared experiences, we find the unity we have always been looking for; the relation point that makes relatives of all of us. I imagine this zone as a sort of super-memory (somewhat akin to the Akashic Records) beyond having opinion or particular viewpoints about what is remembered; an impartial zone where we can all cool down from our long-running temper tantrum with each other. Somewhere between 40 and 80 Hz, we disengage from the cognitive machinations that keep us locked in a particular perspective, all the dogma and the blind insistence, and we simply get out of our own way. Perhaps our biggest cultural shift thus far took place with the arrival of the Sixth Wave, where we reached the threshold of 40 Hz which allowed us to organise memory into compartments for the very first time but at a cost; it fed our evolution and (equally) pitched us one against the other as we fought over who saw what how. Perhaps the next great leap sees us melt back into the flow, retaining what we learned…only looking at all of it in a whole new way. In other words, is it possible to (globally) change our mind?

In the words of Barbara Hand Clow “We all participate in this group mind, which is not solid or physical, and it is palpable. This surface mind is real but less dense than our bodies, and it is textured and colored by each person’s sense of time and history; it is fluid and changes as cultures and people evolve” (Awakening the Planetary Mind: Beyond the Trauma of the Past to a New Era of Creativity”. She could just as easily use the word “memory” in place of “sense of time and history”. It seems to me, that thing we think of as our memory plays a crucial part in making this global mind up; the way we organise it, what we prioritize, how hard and intractable or fluid and prepared to evolve, how optimistic or driven by fear. By taking responsibility for this aspect of our experience, doing the work to heal and let go, taking charge of the way we interpret those archetypes that are all about division and polarity in our culture, noticing commonalities with other people, following the threads that lead towards a future where we thrive together, not fragment apart, we get to consciously create the very structure upon which our shared mind is hinged.

As we do this more and more (starting in our personal lives…), I suspect, the outer surface of the planet cannot fail but to reflect that perspective change and we will see it manifest as our new world, born of an experience of Oneness that is occurring in the very depths of our consciousness. Such an experience supersedes all other memory; feels like it holds the over-ride key of all divisiveness, taking instead what is useful out of our collective experiences without making any of it as personal or painful as it has been with our blinkers on (like taking the sting out of its tail). Memory can then, perhaps, graduate to being this instrument of evolution; informative, colourful, exquisite and wild, a reference point and a cinema screen to look back upon on a rainy day, like a thrilling hardship we once  survived, that helped us to know ourselves better and to value this life…yet now, thankfully, benign. And we get to add new ones to the mix;  conscious ones, creative ones, profoundly personal, life-enhancingly collective new memories, cutting straight to the chase of fulfilling the individual while benefiting the all.  I can really get the point of that.


 

Final thought…

I just “happened” to watch another film (“The Vow”, 2012) last night that was all about memory. In the story, based loosely upon true-life events, the woman is involved in a car accident that wipes her memory of the last few years, winding her back to a time before she had made some very different life choices. Waking up from her coma and for all the frustrating months afterwards – since her memory never returned – she didn’t know or even relate to her husband with whom she had shared a whirlwind romance, their circle of friends or even her career choice as an artist versus the law career she had been training for all those years before. Her bewilderment was about so much more than the loss of her memories and had everything to do with the confused sense of self that, the film demonstrates, is so hinged upon the events we have lived through, forming the very belief system that we live by. The woman couldn’t grasp how or why she was even in her own life since it bore no resemblance to all those things that were so important to that earlier version of herself and, without the intervening twists and turns in her journey, she couldn’t even begin to tie them together to reclaim the feeling of belonging there.

This plot provokes the realisation that, but for a particular turn in the road, we would not be (perhaps, even vaguely) like the person we are today. Those varying potentials that we could have “turned into” might not find it easy to relate to, or even agree with, the life choices, priorities and belief systems that we possess today; they could even be staunchly opposed to one other. So what lies at the centre of all that; what makes us uniquely “who we are” at the core of such disparity (with ourselves). Where lies the pinprick starting-point from which all those other tangents emanate and towards which they return like the pieces of a pie pushed back together; the place where polarised views simply melt away and we understand or at least accept all of those other choices as valid. Perhaps my theory as above still stands and it lies right under our feet.


 

Books

Frequently refered to and highly recommended “The Global Mind and the Rise of Civilization: The Quantum Evolution of Consciousness” – Carl Johan Calleman, PhD

The “Sixth Wave” and “Ninth Wave” refered to come from “The Nine Waves of Creation”, also by Carl Johan Calleman, PhD (for many more references to this on my blog, search posts using the term “Nine Waves”)

“Awakening the Planetary Mind” Beyond the Trauma of the Past to an New Era of Creativity” – Barbara Hand Clow

“The Alchemy of Nine Dimensions” – Barbara Hand Clow

 

 

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Glass butterflies II

Everywhere you turn in Amsterdam, your eyes feast constantly on panes of glass with colour and quirk and tableaux of life made all the more beguiling for the sense of peering at them through windows. The things I photographed the most were almost always under glass; shop displays, flowers, plants, curiosities…why this human fascination (which I share) with glass boxes, domes and terrariums? Because the transparent wall, the sense of looking into something as though into another world or dimension, helps us to see and appreciate beauty even more than when we can touch or be part of it. Our addiction to a sense of a fragile demarkation between one reality and another feels like it underlies the whole reason for the hemispherical divisions of our own brain; the reason we evolved to have distinctly left and right-brained experiences, which was not always the case. Before such a partition came onto our evolutionary path, we were up to our elbows in everything in this universe, so much so we didn’t know where we ended and “other” began. When we create structures, using the most “logical” aspect of our minds, we see the sublimely illogical, the most unfeasibly beautiful and pointlessly glorious aspects of life all the better. Through the window of our own minds, we allow for some things to just be for the sake of being so life enchantingly beautiful for the eyes and soul, no other reason necessary…and Amsterdam was like a feast of such windows…

Extract from Amsterdam – where left meets right


Glass Butterflies is a growing collection of photographs depicting butterflies in juxtaposition with glass: under frames, next to windows, inside glass houses…a metaphor that has deeply informed my painting, writing and thinking for a number of years. As well as taking me on a journey of deeply personal exploration, these synchronistic experiences have everything to do with releasing the Sacred Feminine from her “box” whilst learning to appreciate how that feminine aspect can be allowed to settle upon a much more equal and balanced relationship with the male-oriented, left-hemispherical “structures” of our three-dimensional reality. In a sense, the butterfly learns to work with “the box” on her terms and in ways that enhance her innate qualities; which is the very marriage of fluidity and form that underpins the art-process, taking “inspiration” through the journey of the creative act to where we have something tangible that we can interface with as a three-dimensional form of expression. As you can tell, the metaphor has many layers and continues to develop as one of the long-running themes of my experience.

Some of the most closely related posts are Year of the Butterfly, Glass Butterflies, Out of the Box, Graceful Journey –  Scandinavian Experience, Released from the JarOut of the Blue, Spilling over the EdgesThe Marriage of Art and SpaceA Pool With No Sides and as above Amsterdam – Where Left Meets Right.

The ever-growing collection of photographs can be viewed by clicking on the image below:

 

Glass butterflies II

Posted in Animal art, Architecture, Art, Art in the living space, Art metaphor, Art purpose, Art technique, Art transformation tool, Consciousness & evolution, Divine feminine, divine masculine, Installation art, Life journey, Menu, metaphor, Personal Development, Photography, Spirituality, Symbolic journeys, Windows in art | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Amsterdam – where left meets right

Being just back from a second trip to Amsterdam, my almost inexplicable love for the place reigns supreme and, whilst I struggled to name this feeling, it was so palpable that I didn’t really want to leave. But then on the way home, in that kind of meditative eye-glaze you sink into as the train pulls away from the platform and you see the place for the last time, I was struck by what it is that this and two other cities with which I have this long-running love-affair have in common.

These three – Amsterdam, Bath, Venice – all had their heyday in the so-called “age of enlightnement” at the very beginning of the seventh wave of our evolution. Their very structure, their geometries, the architecture that still defines the experience you have of them from the moment you arrive, all hails from those days. There are patterns and order and mathematics to be found in the way that tall buildings form meaningful shapes around a more malleable landscape, be that water as in two of them or green areas nestled in a green basin between hills as in Bath; and in that marriage of contrasts I find such overwhelming beauty that my artist’s eye hardly knows where to look next. The era when places like this were built was the hey-day of the scientist and mathematician holding sway upon our environment and there’s a big part of me that loves that, for all I profess to have this uneasy relationship with orderly left-hemispherical perspectives and to prefer to see things through the much-more fluid right-brained spin that informs my artistic bent. But then there’s this; in all three cases, those structures hold shape for that “something much more fluid” to happen, just like a goblet holds wine. Creativity, expression and the most eclectic rule- and gender-defying impulses and urges of humanity seem to swirl and play around the outward expression of order there, like water flows easily and unpredictably around the pillars of a bridge. In all three places, their very vibe seems to emanate from this easy marriage of structure and flow.

There’s something crystalline about places that were formed along strictly organised lines, masterminded by great architects…and then softened by human existence over time in the way that moss grows haphazardly over a wall. It’s not the history of the places that draws me per se but the process of succumbing and melding with something more fluid, after the event of their creation, that beguiles me; it’s where they are at now that appeals. Like a cup overspilling, the colour and creativity of human life that they burst with – now – is like that liquid I refer to, although it’s not; its more energetic in nature, it’s a feeling that manifests as beauty. Which means its non-linear, not tied to time and space, it infuses every part of the whole. Once a vibration touches crystalline structure, it rings out across the whole, which becomes infused with that feeling like a soul signature singing out;  a clear note from a crystal glass, coherent and real. It’s that vibe that seems to radiate from a place (no less a person; for we are becoming crystalline too) when a particular feeling is held for a tipping point duration of time; to be registered by anyone else who comes near. Its the coherent structure of the place that amplifies that vibe so that others tune in, they resonate, get quickly up to speed with it…which is something that Amsterdam seems to do so well amongst all the places I have ever been; or perhaps I just recognise its particular vibe…

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERALike the last time we visited, butterflies under glass seemed to “speak to me” everywhere we went; there were just so many of them, inspiring my next paintings and many of my thoughts. Unlike last time, I was left mostly appreciating how these were working with my overall theme; for here were all these glass boxes and, inside them, these beautiful, colourful, transient things held for all to see. Last time, my feelings were mixed; I was trying to be the good vegetarian objecting to them being caught to be put on display, seeing them primarily as something held captive and pinned into their frames yet missing the flavour of this fluid thing becoming “more” somehow for being held inside a structure that, in a sense, partners with its beauty, allowing it to be on display, to be seen more clearly by more people, offering them an experience they might otherwise never have. While my head remained undecided about “what to think”, my eyes just wanted to feast and were transported by so much beauty.

In fact, everywhere you turn in Amsterdam, your eyes feast constantly on panes of glass with colour and quirk and tableaux of life made all the more beguiling for the sense of peering at them through windows. The things I photographed the most were almost always under glass; shop displays, flowers, plants, curiosities…why this human fascination (which I share) with glass boxes, domes and terrariums? Because the transparent wall, the sense of looking into something as though into another world or dimension, helps us to see and appreciate beauty even more than when we can touch or be part of it. Our addiction to a sense of a fragile demarkation between one reality and another feels like it underlies the whole reason for the hemispherical divisions of our own brain; the reason we evolved to have distictly left and right-brained experiences, which was not always the case. Before such a partition came onto our evolutionary path, we were up to our elbows in everything in this universe, so much so we didn’t know where we ended and “other” began. When we create structures, using the most “logical” aspect of our minds, we see the sublimely illogical, the most unfeasibly beautiful and pointlessly glorious aspects of life all the better. Through the window of our own minds, we allow for some things to just be for the sake of being so life enchantingly beautiful for the eyes and soul, no other reason necessary…and Amsterdam was like a feast of such windows.

Yet (and perhaps this is why I am so drawn there) it also feels like a place where those demarkation lines are softening, where colour and expression are so brimful that they now spill out onto the streets, with all the lines blurring. A few days there is enough to make me fall back in love with the city-living from which I usually recoil. My dreams of withdrawing to the country always seem to evaporate as I daydream of a life lived like this, in a place where I could be all that I am without compromise and yet still pound pavements day after day, sit in cafés full of chatter, walk streets crowded with people. A well-balanced life feels possible in such a place and if only I could find its equivalent (last time we returned from Amsterdam we seriously considered Bath) I would consider moving there in a moment. Yes, I hope our cities of the future feel like this, not as sterile, orchestrated and drab as they tend to be painted.

An arrival in Amsterdam is nigh-on impossible without first encountering the area around the central train station, the world famous Red Light District, the coffee shops advertising cannabis and the gentle whiff of the same as you walk along the pavements. Akin with so many cities, the sheer diversity of people rushing shoulder-to-shoulder turns streets into a sort of soup of colour and behaviour. Yet…suddenly…you’re on those three main horseshoe-shaped canals that make up the historical centre, built in a sweep of innovation described as being like a giant windscreen wiper of construction (Geert Mak) in a time when architects had a clear vision of order and place, and all that variety is no more than a stream of energy; a rainbow of colours, a symphony of sound. The shouts and hooting of endless hen and stag parties on boats and pedalows sailing by merges with the chatter of children, tourists, shoppers, of cafés and music, bicycles, trams and church bells, houseboats sprouting verdant hairdos of green foliage and flowers. In fact trees and flowers are everywhere, alongside fruit stalls, galleries, high-end stores and hippy shops, families and vagrants, a “working girl” glimpsed through the window of a domestic house, the splash of tangled wisteria growing up the sides of monochrome buildings drawn with a ruler…and everywhere, avenues of elm trees lining the water’s edge, haphazardly snowing clouds of sail-like seed pods onto pavements and water; a sepia confetti for the marriage of the left and right hemispheres expressed as a place.

The bricks of these unfeasibly tall, neat buildings are tiny and pristine, mostly painted in workaday blacks, greys and mochas trimmed with white and yet coloured signs embedded into their fascias hint at a system, an arrangement, when merchants lived in one place, aristocracy in another, working-classes in yet another again. Their highest storeys bear the reminders of when merchants hoisted their wares down to the water below, dangled on pulley ropes over the windows of their increasingly elegant living quarters – you could say, the original home-businesses, both work and pleasure, were accommodated here. These days, they have been replaced with start-ups; in fact, more start-ups per capita than anywhere else in northern Europe, so I read, and you get the feeling of youthful enterprise and fledgling ventures everywhere you go. Those same people, the ideas people that you sense are helping to meld our future, spill out into cafés and bars, sit drinking coffee on flights of steps leading up to doorways or hanging out of open windows; there is such a feel of neighbourliness, congeniality and goodwill, but certainly not pressure or rush, wherever you go. Parks, bikes, English spoken everywhere…its all easy flow in Amsterdam and it seems to move along the narrow streets like a stream (this feeling of wellbeing that is laid back, unstructured and hard to define as the buildings are neatly arranged). Almost like a bee hive, externally fairly pristine with such a sense of busy-ness going on yet overflowing with some sort of softness, a nectar, this vibe that feeds everyone that happens to be there. Is this something of what it looks and feels like, this balanced “place” of hemispherical softening we are heading towards evolutionarily speaking now we are in the ninth wave; not chaotic so much as expressing a sort of eclectic, artistic sense of order that serves everyone in both their independence and in their community? I really hope so.

You can see the full eclectic set of photos from this trip  in my set Amsterdam II

 

Related post: Glass Butterflies

 

 

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A pool without sides

The pool in which I swim is a vast one where I can no longer reach the sides nor can I push up from the bottom with my feet. This is important since it forces me to use other means to find structure in my experience. Synchronicity is the most important of these. Where two or more things cross over, they form buoyancy aids that I hold on to in the sea of relative non-matter that makes up my reality. It means that “what is most important to be known in this moment” comes to me, not the other way around. If I hunt down or pursue it, with my mind as a scientist would, I know it cannot be trusted in the same way since I wanted or expected it to be this thing before it even arose. When I allow information to present to me, I am shown which way to go with my next thoughts and they can be surprising yet the way they arise with perfect timing cuts out so much piffle. Then, only then, will I delve deeper into this thing with the intellect but it is that first intuition that guided me there. It is a whole new way of being, helping me to navigate at every crossroads. When I first started to experience it…for hours, sometimes days at a time in what I labelled the chronic illness of almost a decade ago, it frightened me hugely. It felt as though my intellect was melting away and I kicked my legs, almost drowned myself in the struggle. It was the surrender to it that brought me new means of navigating my reality and which delivered a much broader understanding of my world than I had ever had access to before. Without even having to use my legs and arms in any particular way, I guess you could say I learned how to swim.

This “new” sea of awareness (or, my experience of it…) comes and goes in its breadth and depth but is strongest during times of geomagnetic turbulence caused by a flare from the sun. At these times, I have come to expect the kind of so-called “brain fog” that broadens and deepens the pool of what my mind is experiencing. Having come to know it so well, I now witness this in others, especially those who rely more on their intellect to get by in their everyday lives; my daughter for instance. There was a such a geomagnetic storm in a week when she had an important maths exam. I suspected it would affect her (as it always does) but didn’t even tell her it was happening so what she noticed was entirely her own observation. She came home from school the day before the exam, the day this GM storm came on full and strong, and having spent the afternoon running through practice papers, lamented “I don’t know what happened, its as though I can’t ‘do’ maths anymore. It won’t stick to the sides, I’ve even lost all my common sense when I tackle the questions, like I can’t even use the basics of what I know”. “Don’t worry…”, I said “ just trust that there is a bigger pattern underlying what you know than just the formula, importantly RELAX and allow that a broader knowledge will come in when you need it, more like an instinct. The key is not to panic, not to go into white fear when you think what you have learned has slipped away”. Its true, once you get over that white-fear of what you have learned with the intellect not being there where you so neatly arranged it in all of it’s A-Z filing cabinets, the mind logs onto a vaster information pool that offers all that you need in any situation, assuming you steer with your intention. The need to use language or formula to grasp or frame a particular question – to initiate the left to right hemisphere dialogue – can feel like a stumbling block in such vast pool but that all important state of calm facilitates what is needed. A few hours of study later, she said she felt somehow smarter than usual, like she knew more…and deeper somehow. She was getting the patterns, the rhythms, the instincts of what the question wanted, not relying on the automaton of the formula. She had achieved a hundred per cent in one of her practice papers and was completing them all well within the allotted time; in fact she commented that it felt as though time slowed right down. This is what it feels like to know with the right portion of the brain instead of exclusively with the left; there is an ease and a “cut to the chase” about it once you get over that initial terror of it being less organised than you are used to.

david-cohen-240663The gift is to bring these two sides of the mind together; and for me that occurs once synchroncitiy has shown me where to land with my thoughts. Like a butterfly guided to the “right” flower by a landing beam of ultraviolet calling out to me across a vast sea of flora, I am told where to settle and then I go to work with my consideration. If that initial feeling isn’t there, I flutter on past…no worry that I will have missed something, there will always be more clues. What started as a pool without sides, making me flay and kick my legs, frantic for my own survival, has become more of a case of floating on my back in a sea of calm, knowing that what I need will come to find me when I most need it. Out of a molten sea of unmoving water, I can trust that ripples will form where they are most meaningful once I let go of any particular outcome that I already have in my mind. It’s a whole different way of being; one in which an innate trust that I am supported by a benevolent universe is fundamental to all that I am. The experiences I have access to feel vaster by far since I now cut to the chase of what is relevant, seldom pushing my feet off the bottom of what is not nor hand-walking my way along edges that were put there by others. Those things that make up my “relevance zone” are wilder, quirkier, more personal to me (yet also, somehow, more universal) and more intimately connected with each other than ever before. They are why this blog is so eclectic in its topics, why I seem to dart and weave between just so many unrelated things…but do I really, or are they all part of a vast coherent pattern that my very existence makes sense of. To me, both apply and this is the interconnected world that I have access to and now live in; where specialism and blinkeredness feel like the dead-weights of the past. In other words, while my pool has got infinitely bigger, I am no longer afraid to be in there since it is less about swimming than allowing the flow.

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Is a rise in the Schumann Resonance “real”?

As the alleged increases in the Schumann Resonance have continued, along with much conversation about the same, an expectable backlash has arisen from those who dispute that anything is “happening” and even Heartmath whose data many of us refer to, have issued a statement to an enquirer (see original article, permission given by Heartmath to share) seeming to say this. When someone drew this to my attention and asked what I thought, it (very usefully) forced me to consider why it is that I am not wavering on my my base opinion that something is happening here, that its new since the start of 2017 and in the feeling that it is rising up from “beneath our feet” as such (different to the “Space Weather” that some of us sensitives are accustomed to monitoring with our bodies as it comes “in” at us from above…and perhaps getting to know one has sensitised us to the other; first yang and now yin!) Here’s what I found myself saying.

Perhaps “Schumann Resonance” has become a catch-all label for something that is not only happening but which many of us – and that includes me – are feeling happen in the most powerful, visceral, cellular way that we are scrabbling for a label to apply to it, so we can usefully refer to it and tell others it is happening. Having tracked the rhythms of these new sensations (and I’m not the only one I know to be having them), I can confirm mine coincide with the “ups” in the SR that have been recorded, which in each case is something I have confirmed after the symptoms affect me. I’ve even considered that it is (the ever increasing number of) those having the experience that are “making” the new vibe happen, giving it form and coherence through our bodily experiences then amplifying it through owning (with our senses, our voices) that it is new and occurring, like an evolutionary rolling wave. We always knew we were going to be that wave, didn’t we? Why would we let other people’s opinions shut that down already? Interesting how the common tendency (and I admit to noticing the same “well-behaved” impulse rise in myself…) is to defer to the science when it says “nope, its just not happening”. As soon as I read that article, part of me felt like becoming the naysayer to my own experiences, denying them, saying “how silly, of course not, what was I thinking, I’m not a scientist so clearly I know nothing” before crawling back into my corner and hanging my head…

Another important factor to remember here is that what the counter argument is using to dispute a rise in the SR is “science”, which is something (I think most explorers around these broader topics now concede) that has such a limited and blinkered way at trying to describe what we are seeing unfold here as our next great evolution. Useful, deserving of respect…yes…but far from capable of explaining and putting to bed everything that arises in our experiences. It already has the labelled box held out ready to gather our next-newest experiences and put the lid on them and is trying to squeeze these much broader and far less fathomable expressions of reality into it; from which perspective it is very easy to scoff and say “dont be silly” to what we are viscerally feeling unfold. Science and its terminology aren’t able to contain this “thing” (whatever it is) since it is too new and unknown to conform to what we think we know…and those of us that are feeling it are (in a sense) trying to meet scientists half way by using labels such as Schumann Resonance and the science those people think is so concrete around that topic to describe our experiences. We are trying to play nice by using terms and labels that slot together as the jigsaw puzzle of left and right hemispherical experience; so of course that means playing loose and fancy-free with terms and definitions that arn’t our natural domain. We were just trying to communicate with the natives of “logical land” but perhaps that experiment in communication relied too much on us overstepping the line into territory where we are simply not welcomed and are too often belittled back to cloud-cuckoo-land where we supposedly daydream our lives away wearing crowns of daisies and hugging all the trees!

Perhaps what our next leap forwards as a species calls for is that scientists meet us supersensitives (those of us who know something big is happening with every tingle of our body) half way, conceding that many of us (just SO many of us…growing in numbers) are feeling something going on and are not imagining it…no way…and that those experiences are as valid as anything their monitoring stations happen to record. We are so eager to commission high-cost technology to monitor such things but what about us; what about using our own in-built sensory devices and why are we so persistently distrustful of this method? The jury is out as to how much of what we are feeling could be man-made in its origin; nonetheless, something is going down and our sensitivity to geomagnetic variables makes us the canaries in the coalmine (I’m not suggesting this is to our detriment…but, certainly, we are the harbingers of some necessary changes) of whatever it is. I also find the variance of readings between monitoring stations (according to global location) interesting in light of everything I have come to understand about the 12th degree latitude line that Dr Calleman refers to as dividing the left and right hemispheres of the planet and along which all of our previous evolutions have birthed in a way that history demonstrates amply (“the line separating the two hemispheres is located at 12 degrees longitude east, plus or minus two degrees” – from “The Global Mind and the Rise of Civilization: The Quantum Evolution of Consciousness). Presumably each of these evolutionary “bursts” began as a feeling that some people felt and responded to; others…not so sure to start with and things are likely to get more lively around that geographical location though we can only speculate what form this will take. In fact all of this takes on a new layer of interest in light of the rhythms of the Ninth Wave of evolution – always interesting to track one against the rhythms of the other, and as ever I refer you to Calleman’s books and my various blogs on the topic.

Even Heartmath (who to some extent, I can well imagine, feel responsible for calming down any kind of hysterical response to the SR, especially since their mission is to direct the planet towards a state of increasing calm and coherence, not the opposite) are at the mercy of “not really knowing” what is afoot, as are we all. As they say “there is no doubt that the electromagnetic conditions on our planet are changing” (yes, tell me about it) and that “the SR’s spike from time to time and we feel the effects of this…” So, what if these spikes have always been our wake up call but we weren’t quite ready (until now…some of us…and more and more since the Ninth Wave arrived) to “hear” this call. Just a thought!

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Free press: a synchronistic tale

Living a life where you notice synchronicity at play brings so much more enjoyment, meaning and thrill. Look what they just found at Reading Uni (see video below), now on display in my old hall of residence where I lived for two years…a very funny synchronicity since I just got back from four days in the Amsterdam “Ink Hotel“, eating meals in the Pressroom Restaurant, located in what was once the premises of the historic De Tidj newspaper. Almost every wall there was lined in reproductions newspaper cuttings or  inky drawings by artist Jan Rothuizen and we had to assume that where we slept must have been converted from its earlier use as some part of the process of churning out newspapers during some quite fascinating times in Dutch history.

 

Click to visit the Anne Frank Museum website

Even before (especially while) I was there, I couldn’t help wondering what went on in that building during the German occupation in WWII. From our bed, we could hear the beautiful chime of Westerkerk, just steps away from Anne Frank’s hiding place and, I found myself thinking, a sound she must have lay there listening to all the time during her two years spent living in the so-called secret annex during those occupied years. Wikipedia confirms: “The Westertoren is mentioned frequently in her diary – its clock-face on the tower could be seen from the attic of the Achterhuis and Anne Frank described the chiming of the carillon as a source of comfort”.)  Her diary was one of the first of the countless piles of war-themed biographys and books that I recently spoke about reading as an adolescent (in my post Testament of One) and certainly one which affected me very deeply so to hear those same chimes marking time in our room was very meaningful to me. In fact it was all the more poignant for the fact I was free to leave my own room to enjoy the streets of Amsterdam whenever I liked…

I’ve looked for, yet not found, any details of what happened to De Tidj during the occupation years but can only assume that the words that they printed were no longer “free” during that window. By contrast, the Dutch ran underground newspapers throughout the period 1940-45 (and, by 1943, Professor N.W. Posthumus, the first Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Netherlands State Institute for War Documentation, had already begun to collect Dutch underground newspapers, at great personal risk; growing the collection after the war – you can view more about this on the British Library website). The printed word has become a very symbol of freedom; more particularly, of the freedom to speak our personal truth, whatever politics or other power games happen to be playing out in our world…in fact, even more so, in such circumstances. And it all started with William Caxton, without whom the means to reproduce and distribute one piece of writing many times would never have been possible.

"Pandora" pre-Raphaelite painting JD Bitten

The big reveal – see my post on Pandora’s Box

And so it all comes back to the man whose small fragment of handiwork has just been uncovered in the archives of the university where I studied for my English Literature and Language degree and which (with mind-blowing synchronicity) is now on display in my old hall of residence, now the Museum of English Rural Life, where I laid my head for two very significant years of my life, joining dots with how I just stayed at the Ink Hotel until yesterday. The coincidence is more mind-blowing still since I shared another story of something lost being refound to the historic building that was once my university “digs” (a painting of Pandora of the infamous box…) when I wrote about my reunion there just the other week in my post Out of the Box. In that, I played with themes such as the opening of boxes, the revealing of secrets, the uncovering of what lies hidden, the liberation of what has been suppressed, the releasing – in particular – of the feminine aspect (which is everything to do with expression) that has been kept under lock-and-key for just so very long, historically speaking. Across those locked-away years, we have always had those few individuals (sometimes, but not always, females) who have been prepared to express themselves in spite of how hard their circumstances made it for them to do so and Anne Frank was one such “feminine” impulse; a pre-wave of the coming feminine age as the Eighth Wave of humanity’s evolution started to roll in (search for all my posts about the Nine Waves of Creation for much more on this). Through her determination to put word to paper and “be heard”, she was an early impulse of that coming era in action; a compelled (and compelling) counter force to her own incarceration, using the medium of free speech, quite regardless of whether she personally believed her words would ever be discovered or read so widely as they have now been. Let her determination to express herself anyway be a reminder to all of us who have that impulse to write truth from our heart yet so often lose motivation, thinking there is no point since we believe nobody will ever read what we have to say…

Having so recently seen the almost perpetual queue to visit the Anne Frank museum snaking around the pavements next to Westerkirk once again whilst staying in my Ink-y hotel until yesterday, I had to smile as all this came together with the perfectly-timed press release in my own local newspaper today about the Caxton find (“University of Reading staff find 500-year-old William Caxton print worth £100,000” in Get Reading 9th May 2017). The printed word seems to be shouting out at me from my residences past and present; and maybe I am alone in finding marvellous synchronicity in all of this but to me as the compulsive writer of words (whether I have an audience or no…), the coincidences I have found in this speak absolute volumes!


Final note:

In an age where the femine is recalibrating to come into closer balance with the more masculine impulses that have dominated our world for so long, it can feel as though there is reveal after reveal after reveal of what was always there but which we either failed to notice or give voice to. And so, yet again, a great truism of humanity rings out from the Get Reading article about the Caxton find (which echoes the Pandora find) – it is “astonishing that it has been under our noses for so long”.

 

 

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Fire and water

For my birthday this year (aptly, my solar return!) I really wasn’t sure where to spend the day until, at the eleventh hour, Bath seemed to be the answer; it felt so right in my gut when the idea first came to me. So we booked our favourite veggie restaurant (the Acorn) and made a day-trip of it; a perfectly formed four hours in one of my favourite places on earth.

Bath 2.jpgThe relatively short time focus necessitated concentration of intention…consideration of how to spend that extra couple of hours once lunch was out of the way…and the very first place (as often is for me) was the source of the thermal spring, like I can’t even orient myself in the town until I’ve been there for just a few moments. By this I don’t mean the big, commercial, ever queue-ridden spa destination of thousands of tourists…no…but the unassuming Cross Bath opposite those gleaming glass walls; site of the original hot dipping pool, cure-all and pilgrimage destination even before the Romans made a feature of it. Just to stand there for a moment and pay my respects at the door seems to initiate my best experiences of the place on every visit.

Bath 2.jpgThen it was just a little bit magical to find butterflies “fluttering” inside the vast spaces of the abbey, like a potent metaphor made manifest. Their colour and variety seemed to flutter new life into torpidity, as though the leaden religious narrative of so many quite massive stained glass windows had been exploded into shards then grown wings before hitting the ground; so, not the end of the world, just a fresh new beginning that had required the courage to break with old ways. Their unexpected presence there above my head seemed like a breath of fresh air sweeping OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAthrough those unreachable spaces from one arched window to the other, stirring up the dust motes of heavy tradition. The reaching and arching endlessly higher and higher of all those immense gothic ceilings that speak of always striving, never quite getting there, seemed to be brought down to attainable height, their pristine stone made mortal yet in no way trivialised by fragments of coloured paper that could have been cut-out with scissors by a child. It felt like a sacred marriage to witness the two side-by side; both aspects made “better”, somehow more whole and perfect, by the collaboration of art installation and its most ideal space. This is what the masculine does so well; it holds space for the feminine to express herself in ways that are fluid, playful, relatable, earthy and without pretention or the kind of loftiness that alienates. The two work perfectly together; in fact, I  realised I had never seen the space look better than it did on this day.

Outside the abbey, as ever, I paid my respects to Sulis and angled the shot by crouching down; a framing that gained the response I half-expected from one of my American friends this morning who, without knowing what she was looking at, told me how much it moved her to see this composition as she asked what the building was in the background. That vast building made suddenly church-like, I pointed out, is Bath Abbey – huge, influential, steeped in tradition (then and now). What I love about this image is that Sulis (who, in a sense, has been there the longest…) is holding her own, scale wise, relative to the oh so beautiful yet undoubtably male-expressing cathedral…calmly pouring water from a simple jug, knowing that being this flow is all that it takes to be our best god-expressing-as-human selves; no grand gestures of stone, investment or scale required. This is the goddess of the thermal springs, “Sun Goddess” (which I love also for Bath 22.jpgthe reason the sun is so often claimed for the masculine); often associated with Brigid, known for her fiery qualities. There’s an “I may be a woman but don’t mess with me” energy about her and such a sense of quiet, unassuming power. The Roman’s knew this when they came and found her as the established deity in these parts. They even kept her local sun-derived name in front of Minerva, as they also came to know her; “Sulis Minerva”, to whom they wrote requests for assistance when revenge or some-such major task or intervention came up. She was formidable femininity, personified – both fire and water together – and her healing powers were exceptional; which is what made Bath into the healing spa that she is still known as today. Its one of the reasons, I know, I am periodically drawn there like to the end of a rainbow along a road I must follow; not least at some of the times that have turned out to waymarkers and turning points.

In the end, it seems, my spontaneous day turned out to be a lot to do with reconciling the water quality of the feminine with fire; even the (rare for me) dessert I indulged in for lunch firing me up more than I am used to these days. Then, as though to seal the deal, the evening produced a ceaseless dance of sunshine and showers, small rainbows and cloud bursts, darkest black rain clouds juxtaposed with sun-radiant fields and striped with radiant bands of platinum-gold all the way home. Sometimes (we need reminding…) the feminine is called to be active, feisty, controversial and strong; to be assertive in ways that are uniquely hers and know herself for these qualities, stirring up dust motes, bringing fresh air and new modalities into stagnant corners, bright colour into drably conservative space, patches of unexpected iridescence into darkness. I’ll take this as the theme of my coming year!

The current art installation at Bath Abbey is by Anthony Head (click on image to enlarge the description).

 

 

 


Related posts:

Glass Butterflies

Reflection Upon Life

Related photography collections:

Glass Butterflies

Bath

Posted in Art, Art technique, Consciousness & evolution, Divine feminine, Installation art, Life journey, Menu, metaphor, Personal Development, Spirituality, Symbolic journeys | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Out of this world

For those of us on a recovery path from a chronic health condition, “fitting-in” was probably one of the first things we threw off. Over time, we have probably honed a sort of environmentally controlled bubble in which we carefully and mindfully live our own lives, peering though its glass bauble at everybody else. Along the way, we have turned down all the dials on the pace of life and shown that we can exist in a very different place to the rest of the world; whilst seemingly, seamlessly, coexisting with it. We have ear-marked our own dimension and dropped it into the reality of everyone else; only they are subtly out of sync with each other in ways that we clearly perceive and those other people only vaguely suspect (though enough for them to sense we are uncomfortably “different”). With our enhanced diet and our micro-environment made out of subtly different life choices to the throng, we find we can thrive for ever longer periods without being tipped over in that old way. But can we ever ditch the odd-ball lives we’ve built, go back to “normal”, do all the things other people do once our health stabilises without it being the snake-ride back to the start of the game? And (I have to ask as I know that I self-selected this life) what did I expect to gain from coming here in this format, at this time when every personal victory of improvement is so conditional on where I am and the choices I make, moment to moment, mouthful to mouthful, environment to environment? Why live in a time of just so many choices and feel like they are all on display behind a sheet of bullet-proof glass so that I can see but can’t touch them; to have them already filtered and chosen for me by what my biology can cope with before it tips over into pain?

“Fibromyalgia”, after all, is just shorthand code for “not designed for this world”, a label for being a misfit at a very deep biological level; but not because we are faulty but because the world isn’t ready for us yet or, you could say, we arrived early. It’s a bucket title for those who are way too super-sensitive to cope with how things currently are, being calibrated to another time-space, and so we become systemically floored, like fish out of water gasping for breath. Its something we learn to be accepting of, to tolerate, which we manage to do…most of the time though at others it makes us sad, like a deep and innocuous feeling of homesickness. So we adopt the stiff upper lip and we try to get back to the job…our job in this life…whatever that is; yet even a sense of our core purpose in life can flounder at these times.

I’m left with this; perhaps I really am some future version of myself, from a world where I am perfectly calibrated for my environment and the frequency of the people who live there. Perhaps I’m a preview of a future model, with features that don’t yet sync with the way the world is. I am the one I’ve been waiting for, fully calibrated for a future reality and its time I welcomed myself thus. Perhaps my non-compute at the bland reception of all that I am here is the very communication breakdown between two peoples that makes at least one half of that dialogue (me) try so very hard to forge paths of communication that those listening out for a sign might start to hear if I just keep trying to refine my methods of speaking what I know. Perhaps the extent to which I feel the misfit, noting the “rub” between this reality and another one that I perceive being held out there in potential, creates the friction of desire that serves like the tyre on the road; the very thing creating traction to get me and others like me from one reality to another. Perhaps the relentless motivation by impulses that have nothing to do with personal gain and everything to do with making the path easier, quicker and more direct for others is how those like me demonstrate that future reality in action (since, you could say, it is fuelled by love). Perhaps it is the ceaseless desire of those in recovery from chronic health issues to keep moving optimistically towards a more comfortable, heart-centred reality where we biologically thrive, showing others how it is all done by focussing on meeting our own needs, creating our own best environment, making our own most discerning choices at every turn, is one of the ways that we help fuel the evolution of a planet…and this is our contribution, which is enough.

Modified extract from my Out of this world on Living Your Whole Life.

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Navigating that darkest before the dawn feeling

A friend whose words I treasure shared this morning “There is nearly always a dip, a feeling that all is lost before the revelation of a mystery…” It struck me that this is the very same as the feeling as when we experience the high end of the Beta frequency, which can make us feel that all is chaotic or “lost”, that we are on the verge of destruction and that we are caught in such a state of high adrenalin and overwhelm that we can’t even mastermind our own survival. But just the other side of that is the Gamma range which is quite another story, being the frequency associated with oneness and bliss. The reason this is an interesting connection to make today this is that there is a rumour spinning around social media (see this video) that the Schumann Resonance reached an all time high of 90Hz this week. If its true then it is quite phenomenal since the Schumann is popularly stated to hover around the 7.83Hz mark, though it reached record highs of around 40 earlier this year (see my 5 Feb post on Living Whole).

blake-richard-verdoorn-15549The heartbeat of the planet, as it is commonly known, is something we all tune into, biologically, much like an unborn child calibrates to its mother’s heartbeat and I suspect its both an essential and evolution-focussed connection (just as a mother’s health impacts the unborn child’s developmental progress during gestation). Holding a regular “heartbeat” of 7-ish Hz, this serves as a steadying rhythm that keeps us in the realms of the Alpha waves that maintain a calm but alert state, much of the time. When the Schumann rises up into the realms of Beta frequency, we start to feel the more adrenalised tug of active thought and action, the kind of energy that has us “doing” rather than “being”. When the Schumann takes us as high as it is goes these days we are led way up into the highest realms of Beta where that more-energised state tips into feelings of high-anxiety and feelings of hopelessness.

Its true, in recent weeks I’ve been noticing more and more people comment that they have had days of inexplicable high-anxiety or had thoughts like “what’s the point” or “I can’t cope anymore”. I can’t help suspecting that its a sign we are tuning into each other’s “stuff” more than we ever have before and that the barriers between “his problem” and “my problem” are starting to dissolve. I know from experience that these can be breakthrough emotions as I was living in a place of complete overwhelm at the point when my health collapsed a few years ago. In the aftermath, during the very early stages of my recovery, I spent a lot of time feeling like I had somehow gone through the highly-adrenalised state of overwhelm into some other territory where I felt like I would float suspended in a void for days on end, having the kind of experiences of unity consciousness that – when I came “back down to earth” – became the fuel in the fire of a process of awakening that has been my story of the last half decade. In that state, I started to feel like I understood things better than I ever had done in my life…only not in an intellectual way but far beyond that. I now regard those episodes to have been a taster of what it feels like to experience Gamma brainwaves and they were at once disorienting yet sublime and transformational, helping me to make sense of the whole gamut of my human experiences like never before.

As I’ve said, where the Schumann Resonance seems to be heading is well into the Gamma range, where all is resoundingly well once we learn how to handle being there, which involves unlearning so much of what we think we know about the world. Once we get over that last “darkest before the dawn feeling” there’s nothing left but an experience of unity consciousness and perfection, of all the barriers to our understanding dissolving as we reach a sea of reconciliation with all that there is and that feeling of blissful coherence beckoning us over. Quite a leap…and with quite a contrast at its threshold (from Beta into Gamma), like we have to feel so much much worse just before things start to feel infinitely better. And isn’t that life all over? We are quite the experts at that darkest before the dawn thing…but if we just hang in there a little longer…learn to handle it a new way…open up to new possibilities and perspectives…

I sensed the Schumann Resonance was on the up again even before I read these reports about its new peak…and I certainly felt it last night. My husband and I were lying rigid and sleepless in bed half the night and I knew what we were both experiencing though I opted not to give it substance by saying it outloud. In the  morning, both of us declared that we had been feeling adrenalised and panicky “for no reason” all night; you know, that feeling that “something bad is about to happen” or that you have seriously messed up in some way that is about to come back and haunt you. In that state, the tendency is to feel that everything is going wrong and it is all “our problem” waiting for us to resolve it, whether its on the domestic front or something on the global level; like we have to take a particular action to save the world but we haven’t a clue what that action is. I found myself explaining it like this; its as though we are stood in front of a lost property booth and someone is holding up a tatty old garment, perhaps a hideous old hat that’s been trampled on the floor and has holes in it. “Is this anybody’s hat?” the person shouts out. In that higher Beta state, we are very likely to shoot our hand up without even thinking and declare “its mine”, claiming it whether it is or it isn’t, while inwardly cringing at the awfulness of the hat and that fact we don’t even want to touch it. That’s what high-end Beta can feel like; its as though all the most heinous situations are, at some level, “ours” to own up to or solve, like we are personally responsible or let everyone down and now its time to “wear” this thing for all to see. It’s an overwhelming feeling, one that can spark anger or aggression just as much as meltdown since every instinct in us kicks back at the unfairness of it all. Its like we think we are being called to account for, well, everything that ever happened and its all too much from that human perspective where personal responsibility, action and blame have been placed at the central core of everything.

Then along with Gamma brain waves (more information on the peak performance, connectivity and super-rapid processing speeds that those enable here) comes that sea of unity, like diving into a smooth pool where, quite literally, nothing matters any more since all matter has dissolved into oneness. All barriers to understanding have gone, we can see it all for what it is, our stress dissolves, all blame (of self and of other) dissipates, we see the many perfections in the overview. This is where we are heading and, I suspect, the Schumann Resonance is preparing us for the transition. In the meantime, if we can stay in a place where we don’t try and make this all about the body (which is where our overwhelmed system often tries to carpark unfamiliar feelings, assuming “there must be something wrong with me”, since the physical body is the arena where we are most familiar with handling our problems) then we can make these transitions quickly without turning them into something biological like a flu, or worse. Dealt with in the energy field, we can allow these passing feelings of overwhelm to be transmuted quickly, efficiently and in almost no time at all. We become adept at moving up and down the scale of frequencies with the Schumann Resonance, without stalling because of a learned tendency to think our out-of-control emotions or weird physical symptoms have anything to do with the little dramas in our lives or the broader three-dimension circus going on around us in the world. We don’t know what this next stage in our evolution is going to bring but we can be sure it is happening way beyond all the small stuff of everyday life and it has our back, even if it is beyond our courrent understanding. The best things we can do are stay grounded and positive, observing extreme emotions without engaging, using meditation and a perspective of love to keep in a far broader space as we witness what unfolds. Interesting times….and we are just learning how to navigate them.

Heres a useful article on the Shcumann Resonance from Dr Joe Dispnza


Afterthought added May 14th 2017

Is the rise in the Schumann Resonance “real”?

As the alleged increases in the SR have continued, along with much conversation about the same, an expectable backlash has arisen from those who dispute that anything is “happening” and even  Heartmath, whose data many of us refer to, have issued a statement to an enquirer (see original article, permission given by Hearthmath to share) seeming to say this. When someone drew this to my attention and asked what I thought, it (very usefully) forced me to consider why it is that I am not wavering on my my base opinion that something is happening here, that its new since the start of 2017 and in the feeling that it is rising up from “beneath our feet” as such (different to the “Space Weather” that some of us sensitives are accustomed to monitoring with our bodies as it comes “in” at us from above…and perhaps getting to know one has sensitised us to the other; first yang and now yin!) Here’s what I found myself saying.

Perhaps “Schumann Resonance” has become a catch-all for label for something that is not only happening but which many of us – and that includes me – are feeling happen in the most powerful, visceral, cellular way that we are scrabbling for a label to apply to it, so we can usefully refer to it and tell others it is happening. Having tracked the rhythms of these new sensations (and I’m not the only one I know to be having them), I can confirm mine coincide with the “ups” in the SR that have been recorded, which in each case is something I have confirmed after the symptoms affect me. I’ve even considered that it is (the ever increasing number of) those having the experience that are “making” the new vibe happen, giving it form and coherence through our bodily experiences then amplifying it through owning (with our senses, our voices) that it is new and occuring, like an evolutionary rolling wave. We always knew we were going to be that wave, didn’t we? Why would we let other people’s opinions shut that down already? Interesting how the common tendency (and I admit to noticing the same “well-behaved” impulse rise in myself…) is to defer to the science when it says “nope, its just not happening”. As soon as I read that article, part of me felt like becoming the naysayer to my own experiences, denying them, saying “how silly, of course not, what was I thinking, I’m not a scientist so clearly I know nothing” before crawling back into my corner and hanging my head…

Another important factor to remember here is that what the counter argument is using to dispute a rise in the SR is “science”, which is something (I think most explorers around these broader topics now concede) that has such a limited and blinkered way at trying to describe what we are seeing unfold here as our next great evolution. Useful, deserving of respect…yes…but far from capable of explaining and putting to bed everything that arises in our experiences. It already has the labelled box held out ready to gather our next-newest experiences and put the lid on them and is trying to squeeze these much broader and far less fathomable expressions of reality into it; from which perspective it is very easy to scoff and say “dont be silly” to what we are viscerally feeling unfold. Science and its terminology aren’t able to contain this “thing” (whatever it is) since it is too new and unknown to conform to what we think we know…and those of us that are feeling it are (in a sense) trying to meet scientists half way by using labels such as Schumann Resonance and the science those people think is so concrete around that topic to describe our experiences. We are trying to play nice by using terms and labels that slot together as the jigsaw puzzle of left and right hemispherical experience; so of course that means playing loose and fancy-free with terms and defintions that arn’t our natural domain. We were just trying to communicate with the natives of “logical land” but perhaps that experiment in communication relied too much on us overstepping the line into territory where we are simply not welcomed and are too often belittled back to cloud-cuckoo-land where we supposedly daydream our lives away wearing crowns of daisies and hugging all the trees!

Perhaps what our next leap forwards as a species calls for is that scientists meet us supersensitives (those of us who know something big is happening with every tingle of our body) half way, conceding that many of us (just SO many of us…growing in numbers) are feeling something going on and are not imagining it…no way…and that those experiences are as valid as anything their monitoring stations happen to record. The jury is out as to how much of what we are feeling could be man-made in its origin; nonetheless, something is going down and our sensitivity to geomagnetic variables makes us the canaries in the coalmine of whatever it is. I also find the variance of readings between monitoring stations (according to global location) interesting in light of everything I have come to intuit about the 12th degree longitude line that Dr Calleman refers to in his books…the hemispherical dividing line of the planet; things are likely to get more lively around that geographical location though we can only speculate what form this will take. In fact all of this takes on a new layer of interest in light of the rhythms of the Ninth Wave of evolution – always interesting to track one against the rhythms of the other, and as ever I refer you to Calleman’s books and my various blogs on the topic.

Even Heartmath (who to some extent, I can well imagine, feel responsible for calming down any kind of hysterical response to the SR, especially since their mission is to direct the planet towards a state of increasing calm and coherence, not the opposite) are at the mercy of “not really knowing” what is afoot, as are we all. As they say “there is no doubt that the electromagnetic conditions on our planet are changing” (yes, tell me about it) and that “the SR’s spike from time to time and we feel the effects of this…”  So, what if these spikes have always been our wake up call but we weren’t quite ready (until now…some of us…and more and more since the Ninth Wave arrived) to “hear” this call. Just a thought!

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