Category: Toltec

The Not Invented Here Syndrome

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

I’ll kick this off with a statement

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People are evangelical about the comprehensive nature of their self-diagnosed omniscience.

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They are convinced that they know best and seek to promote and otherwise sell their approach(es). After all education is a business and bums on seats keep the pennies flowing into coffers. Religion too is a business and the treasuries must be kept full. Politics too is a business. In all of these cash flow is important. Self-marketing is important for livelihood. One must strive for supremacy and market domination.

I have encountered and been repulsed by the not invented here syndrome many times which can be paraphrased,

“We know best, fuck off with your strange and foreign ideas!! We love Status Quo.”

I once met a young man who tried to persuade me that Vajrayana practice was very difficult, like scaling a cliff. It was very hard but promised high gain yet the risks of falling and getting very badly hurt were high. He was showing off a little. I thought to myself, “try the warrior’s path sunshine and that might change your attitude…”

It is all a bit cock wavy. “My path is harder and more macho than yours!”

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If you read and consider deeply the aphorism from the rule of the three pronged nagal above you can see that it is not facile or shallow. This insight comes from direct experiential contact with The VOID. It is a part of the inner subjective teachings of the Toltec schema. Perhaps akin by extrapolation to inner Kalachakra.

I have joked that I am a quantum yogi, in a geek-yogi superposition state. As such I am suspected by scientists and suspected by yogis because I not one thing or the other. I am not pure. Like the driven snow I am tainted by other thought forms. Yuk!!

I probably am quite well placed to do a balanced compare and contrast for many different ways of thinking.

Sometimes one needs more than verbatim translation to carry across meaning. People can argue when in fact they are in agreement.

They are just not willing to listen with an open mind and a willingness to find common ground…

The call of the soap box can be irresistible…

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Cockney have name like Treey, Arthur and Del-boy
We have name like Winston, Lloyd and Leroy
We bawl out YOW! While cockneys say OI!
What cockney call a Jack’s we call a Blue Bwoy
Say cockney have mates while we have spar
Cockney live in a drum while we live in a yard
Say we nyam while cockney get capture
Cockney say guv’nor. We say Big Bout ya
In a de Cockney Translation!
In a de Cockney Translation!

Smiley Culture

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Gateway to the Nagual’s World – South the place of Dreaming

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In my case, don Juan wanted an omen before he taught me the ritual. That omen came when don Juan and I were driving through a border town in Arizona and a policeman stopped me. The policeman thought I was an illegal alien. Only after I had shown him my passport, which he suspected of being a forgery, and other documents, did he let me go. Don Juan had been in the front seat next to me all the time, and the policeman had not given him a second glance. He had focused solely on me. Don Juan thought the incident was the omen he was waiting for.

His interpretation of it was that it would be very dangerous for me to call attention to myself, and he concluded that my world had to be one of utter simplicity and candor – elaborate ritual and pomp were out of character for me. He conceded, however, that a minimal observance of ritualistic patterns was in order when I made my acquaintance with his warriors. I had to begin by approaching them from the south, because that is the direction that power follows in its ceaseless flux. Life force flows to us from the south, and leaves us flowing toward the north. He said that the only opening to a Nagual’s world was through the south, and that the gate was made by two female warriors, who would have to greet me and would let me go through if they so decided.

He took me to a town in central Mexico, to a house in the countryside. As we approached it on foot from a southerly direction, I saw two massive Indian women standing four feet apart, facing each other. They were about thirty or forty feet away from the main door of the house, in an area where the dirt was hard-packed. The two women were extraordinarily muscular and stern. Both had long, jet-black hair held together in a single thick braid. They looked like sisters. They were about the same height and weight – I figured that they must have been around five feet four, and weighed 150 pounds. One of them was extremely dark, almost black, the other much lighter. They were dressed like typical Indian women from central Mexico – long, full dresses and shawls, homemade sandals.

Don Juan made me stop three feet from them. He turned to the woman on our left and made me face her. He said that her name was Cecilia and that she was a dreamer. He then turned abruptly, without giving me time to say anything, and made me face the darker woman, to our right. He said that her name was Delia and that she was a stalker. The women nodded at me. They did not smile or move to shake hands with me, or make any gesture of welcome. Don Juan walked between them as if they were two columns marking a gate. He took a couple of steps and turned as if waiting for the women to invite me to go through. The women stared at me calmly for a moment. Then Cecilia asked me to come in, as if I were at the threshold of an actual door.

Don Juan led the way to the house. At the front door we found a man. He was very slender. At first sight he looked extremely young, but on closer examination he appeared to be in his late fifties. He gave me the impression of being an old child: small, wiry, with penetrating dark eyes. He was like an elfish apparition, a shadow. Don Juan introduced him to me as Emilito, and said that he was his courier and all-around helper, who would welcome me on his behalf.

It seemed to me that Emilito was indeed the most appropriate being to welcome anyone. His smile was radiant; his small teeth were perfectly even. He shook hands with me, or rather he crossed his forearms and clasped both my hands. He seemed to be exuding enjoyment; anyone would have sworn that he was ecstatic in meeting me. His voice was very soft and his eyes sparkled.

We walked into a large room. There was another woman there. Don Juan said that her name was Teresa and that she was Cecilia’s and Delia’s courier. She was perhaps in her early thirties, and she definitely looked like Cecilia’s daughter. She was very quiet but very friendly. We followed don Juan to the back of the house, where there was a roofed porch.

It was a warm day. We sat there around a table, and after a frugal dinner we talked until after midnight. Emilito was the host. He charmed and delighted everyone with his exotic stories. The women opened up. They were a great audience for him. To hear the women’s laughter was an exquisite pleasure. They were tremendously muscular, bold, and physical. At one point, when Emilito said that Cecilia and Delia were like two mothers to him, and Teresa like a daughter, they picked him up and tossed him in the air like a child.

Of the two women, Delia seemed the more rational, down- to-earth. Cecilia was perhaps more aloof, but appeared to have greater inner strength. She gave me the impression of being more intolerant, or more impatient; she seemed to get annoyed with some of Emilito’s stories. Nonetheless, she was definitely on the edge of her chair when he would tell what he called his “tales of eternity.” He would preface every story with the phrase, ‘Do you, dear friends, know that. . . ?’

The story that impressed me most was about some creatures that he said existed in the universe, who were the closest thing to human beings without being human; creatures who were obsessed with movement and capable of detecting the slightest fluctuation inside themselves or around them. These creatures were so sensitive to motion that it was a curse to them. It gave them such pain that their ultimate ambition was to find quietude. Emilito would intersperse his tales of eternity with the most outrageous dirty jokes. Because of his incredible gifts as a raconteur, I understood every one of his stories as a metaphor, a parable, with which he was teaching us something.

 Don Juan said that Emilito was merely reporting about things he had witnessed in his journeys through eternity. The role of a courier was to travel ahead of the Nagual, like a scout in a military operation. Emilito went to the limits of the second attention, and whatever he witnessed he passed on to the others.

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From “The Eagle’s Gift” by Carlos Castaneda, Part Three.

  • The gate to our property is in the South. Currently there is a beat up Citroen there…

“Spiritual” Journeys

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

I have used inverted commas quotation mark here because I struggle a little with how words have in a sense become tainted by multiple usage and being bandied about as PR. Spiritual as a word has had its impact and meaning downgraded to the point of near meaninglessness.

I am going to attempt to put into words something which I have hesitated to do. It is close to impossible. This cannot be undertaken without emphasising just how important a few years of my childhood were in my development, in this life. One constellation in particular left its mark deep in my psyche.

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It was by its light during an English language common entrance exam that I foresaw events near two and a half decades later. It was the harbinger and the key of a volte face in life. I left the harbour alone in my coracle adrift upon the Southern ocean lit by its solace. I left Cape Town after being burned on table mountain.

Later I had another foreboding which was also to find consummation over a similar time delay. Each of these were pivotal. That foreboding prevented me making a UCAS university choice against the advice of my school teachers.

When I was young and in an English boarding school as an expat child I got to read the lessons and the prayers in church. While the others sat with parents. It was like a duck to water that I took to the lectern and the prayer “chair” deep in the nave. There I found St Francis of Assisi.

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« Seigneur, faites de moi un instrument de votre paix.
Là où il y a de la haine, que je mette l’amour. »

« C’est en pardonnant qu’on est pardonné,
c’est en mourant qu’on ressuscite à l’éternelle vie. »

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This man was in tune with the Mahayana bodhisattva ideal. His words touched.

Unfortunately those with the skill of a chameleon can adopt any mask, any direction, any character they choose. Believe me I learned how to blend. And in blending one loses authentic essence.

At the end of my schooling I took general studies courses in Buddhism, cooking and Rastafarianism. Ever Jah, ever loving, ever faithful. Rastafari. I read all that I could on witchcraft and alchemy. I made “friends” with the librarian in our town.

The Buddhism was presented in an intellectual descriptive manner in which the various fetters were enumerated for debate. Although I understood, the manner was for me boring and definitional. I sensed beyond that which was being professed. It was during intense meditation sat in seiza at karate that I learned that I had in fact been meditating all of my childhood. I used to sit and observe. I used to wait. I was touched directly by the dreamtime out in the shimmering bush of western Queensland. The aboriginal pointing stick had cleaved something open.

And then when I went to university I mostly forgot. By the time I was doing my Ph.D. research I figured that I had found something I was good at. So maybe this was the future. I enjoyed “pissing about with lasers”. I was to an extent, life and soul of the party. It was only in the early nineties that I started to withdraw, as if driven by a deeper current, out into the hills, the mountains and the countryside. It set up a kind of imbalance. On the one hand was a “normal” life and career. On the other there was silence and quiet. My reading was more intellectual philosophy, science and philosophy of science. I noted that despite mundane academic achievement many of “the greats” struggled with non-salary paying bigger questions.

I was offered a choice. Fort Collins Colorado or Bern Switzerland. One of those would have brought me quicker into contact with things “spiritual” than the other. The Swiss francs were certain, so I saw the Berner Oberland and learned painfully of “qualität”. Something which I tried thenceforth to express.

In the mid nineties at the place of my prior foreboding I was brought to my knees. Despite writing excellent research proposals I was stymied and unfunded. A grudge held by a “competing” senior academic could kill a proposal with a mere word. I had a breakdown. The answer to life the universe and everything could no longer be found in the laws of quantum mechanics and thermodynamics. It seemed there was more. It was around then that my ambition faded and the picture of a life academic dimmed. I began to search in earnest. I opened myself up wide. Again I largely forgot and tried to rebuild a life after breakdown. For some unknown reason money for research and start-up came more easily. I was “successful” for a while.

In the very early part of this century I was tested by power. I had a taste of it and did not abuse. Like Galadriel I refused the ring and was no longer sorely tempted thereby. It was around this time that a series of what might be called micro-renunciations began. In which step-wise I renounced or was forced to renounce the accoutrements of normal life. Each one was more difficult and profound than the last. Slowly life was stripped of all that made it busy and hectic. Until in the middle of 2006 I renounced all and walked off into the metaphorical “wilderness”. Dramatic as that sounds, at face value it looked simple, at core it cleaved and parted, severed and up-ended.

I did not become a wandering mendicant with charnel grounds for abode nor skull cup for beverage. Though adrift I most certainly was. I had already learned as a child, the nature of impermanence. Strangely without accoutrement life did not cease, the world did not implode, nor did it stop.

When you are thrust  from an Outlook calendar ruled life, with hours dissected into segments, with meetings set for you, with each action seemingly accountable, into nothing. The meaning of time changes in an unalterable and irrevocable way. It is no longer a spreadsheet thing. The boxes, the rice paper walls of the day, dissolve.

At end of 2008 I left the map so to speak. I began a series of meditations which went beyond. There was nothing, despite my research skill, which I could find written. These “meditations” continued in the UK in houses close to civilisation yet separate in the English countryside. I can say that the rigor of these was high and they continued for many years. In around 2010-11 I began having Buddhist dreams.

In the early part of the century whilst still teaching physical chemistry I had a series of waking visions in which I had “om mane padme hum” tattooed on my forearms in Sanskrit and with me in monastic robes. These visions were sufficiently powerful to be present whilst I was lecturing Chemical Reaction Kinetics to undergraduates in South Kensington. It was around then that I got to express my compassion for others, to care for them.

Overlaid on a “Toltec” background was a distinctly Buddhist vibe.

All the while I had a seemingly normal life as a married man doing for quite a while “A” level science private tutoring. The outer world and the inner world differed and markedly so.

To me as a member of the elephant dreaming class there is no problem with the scholastic wisdom teachings of Siddartha and the more dramatic Toltec corpus. The latter is a guide, when viewed with clarity, to the navigation of glamour and illusion. There is probably only one truth expressed via many different approaches. The Tower of Babel has a lot to answer for…

This is probably enough for today…

He be up yon Wurzel tree…

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Stalker’s Rule

5th aspect

“Whenever faced with impossible odds, a warrior opens himself up to the world around him by allowing his mind to become occupied with the little details of life.”

Dreamer’s addendum.

“That way he can interpret the waking dream all around him.”              

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It stands to reason that if you prefer to hide in the shadows in order to get some “advantage” over another being you are a creature of the dark. You are not a being of light. Tenebris. Darkness, these have imbued you and to an extent rule you. You have become like the eponymous vampire afraid of day light, afraid of being open, truthful and honest. You fear the dawn. You are forever seeking your next salacious feed. You may think you are being cunning and clever but the darkness has advised you thus. The darkness has his salesman’s foot across your threshold and has the door to your heart and soul jammed ajar. You have debased yourself. You are a pervy voyeur, a sneaky peeker, a surreptitious coward snivelling around afraid of honesty and openness. You belong in Mordor with its acrid sulphur.

Because of anthropomorphic climate change the moles have been gadding about. The little buggers have been busy with the warm weather. As one of my last pre-operative  gardening stints I have been out laying mole traps. Since I started trapping moles about five years ago I have learned much. I have a mental map of all the “old” galleries and can tell if a new mole hill is an end of tunnel pile up or a nodal crossroads with a fair degree of accuracy. If you are laying traps it is absolutely imperative that you use gloves upon which there is no human scent. The smell can be on the inside. A drop of human sweat renders a trap ineffective until it is cleaned and allowed to develop an earthy aroma. I have 21 traps, 21 jewels, all of which are now set in my land, my world. I have several 3 way nodes and one 4 way node trapped. Usually I wait one week. You can sometimes smell above ground before unearthing the trap if it has been successful. This particularly so in summer. So if the little buggers do continue to ferret around in the darkness they may find the jaws of a trap closing upon their nosey noses. There is no obvious way for a mole to know where my traps are. They are just looking for salacious juicy worms to chew upon. All they care about is worms and filling their bellies.

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And I´ll be happy to see
Those nice young men
In their clean white coats..

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nagal’s courier – massive shit tip – dream 23-10-2025

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Here is last night’s dream had after 5 AM.

The dream starts with the wife and I paying a visit to C whom I know to be a nagal’s courier by predilection. He greets us at the door to his house and invites us in. It is in the UK possibly London. The house is a complete mess, a massive shit tip. The place is in disarray with stuff scattered all over the floor. The kitchen is dirty and very messy. There are plates and saucepans unwashed. C himself is looking shabby and a bit fucked up. He does not look well.

I sit him down and start to clean off a metallic roasting dish. I scrub it in the sink until it is clean and shiny. I then place in it from my satchel a whole oven ready chicken. I add some roasting vegetables and turn the oven on. C says that he would like me to do two chickens if they will fit. That way he will have something to eat after we leave. I start cleaning up the sink and find in there another roasting dish which I chip the debris off and scrub clean. In the fridge wrapped in plastic is another chicken. There is nothing else. I check the use by date and it is ok. I place both roasting dishes in the oven to cook. I take a third chicken out of my satchel. It is plastic wrapped and in date. I put it in the fridge for later.

While the food is cooking I go to the bathroom. It is a mess. There is a “Karcher” style high pressure hose there and I start to pressure wash the mud and “shit” off the walls, the sink and the bath. There is a walk in shower and I wash the debris down the plughole. Slowly the bathroom appears.

I go back to the kitchen. I ask C how come he let thing get into such a state, such a complete shit tip? He shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. I know in the dream that this is because he made a big mistake concerning how he interacted and treated me. I say to him that soon there will be some food and that he needs to take better care of himself.

As I am coming to, I think “not another mess, shit tip dream pertaining to mess made by others!”.

The dream ends.

What is on the Cards – Tarot – V&A

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I first started looking into Tarot around 2001. At the time I was an academic in Physical Chemistry at Imperial College London. I was very busy and a part of my job involved considering the second order non linear susceptibility of surfaces and probing these with femtosecond laser pulses.

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It probably wasn’t on the cards that I would share these two interests. Needless to say I did not soap box about tarot to my colleagues, lead ballons and all that.

Last night YouTube suggested a short video from the V&A about tarot and the history thereof. I watched it and found out about Minchiate and subsequently Sicilian tarot. I also found out that you can request to examine and handle some of the collection. The video was well made and interesting.

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« Le minchiate est un jeu de cartes du début du XVIe siècle, originaire de Florence, en Italie, qui n’est quasiment plus joué depuis le XXe siècle. Très proche du tarot, mais plus complexe, il se caractérise par le nombre important d’atouts qu’il utilise : 40, là où le tarot n’en comprend généralement que 21, pour un total de 97 cartes. »

The V&A has a nice web page on the history of Tarot, click here.

In the past I was more often found across the road in the science museum where I, on occasion, explained various exhibits to a little person. Often I would attract a small crowd who pretended not to listen in to what I was saying. The science museum seemed more natural, home turf.

The idea of emailing the V&A collection room to ask to inspect tarot cards from my old Imperial address tickled my fancy. Would they note it and find it odd?

Anyway I have a PowerPoint slide pack course in which I relate tarot to the Kabbalah tree of life and the various paths thereupon, to the Toltec Jewels of Awareness and to the evolution of inherent and evolving awareness. If I remember correctly Théun used to say that it was the Toltecs who invented tarot as a means of communication under things like the catholic inquisition. Anyone who threatened the supremacy of the church was subject to torture and death. The church had a stake in keeping control and power and it burned others on stakes. Tarot being arcane could be hidden under a cover story from prying eyes.

I’ll wager that more people use tarot than second order non-linear hyperpolarizability tensors. Hyperpolarizability is more arcane than tarot.

Back then I looked in detail at much so-called occult literature with the skill set of someone who can read matrices, and spot patterns. I found a lot of the published work shoddy and inconsistent.

I have a weak notion, that I am probably uniquely placed to relate so-called occultism, Toltec, Tarot and Buddhism with the critical thinking of a once pukka scientist.

In the 1990s I never knew that tarot was on the cards for me, though I had started to use I Ching for divination and shamanic journeying to request guidance from the universe. The shaman’s drum and the optical parametric oscillator do not see natural bedfellows. Seemed pretty darned normal to me.

The history of things like tarot will always be largely the overt and exoteric because the esoteric and hidden, is not in the public domain.

I personally cannot get on with the more modern tarot decks, using the tarot de Marseilles almost all of the time. I don’t do cartomancy but allow the major arcana to add pictorial clues to whichever Jewel of Awareness is in play or needs to be used.

I do dream tarot cards from time to time. This may not be common.

Let me be clear occult as I use it means difficult to see, partially hidden from view and not the bleeding obvious. It has nothing to do with Satan nor any dark ritual magic.

There are enough evil people in the world who are successful in the ordinary socio-political and pecuniary sense. They don’t need upside down pentagrams and goat heads. They are just nasty evil selfish people.

I still don’t know what is on the cards for the rest of this year / life …

What Do You Notice?

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Depending upon our experiences, orientation and degree of self-absorption what we notice may differ. How we assimilate it can differ too. The wife has a different approach from me which means we can find things the other cannot, CDs and keys being an example. I can be detail blind. Working together is more comprehensive.

This morning the nurse noted that I was limping, waddling like a duck. As a part of her profession she notes things like this. I have noted of late that people apologise to me for getting in my way because my penguin gait lacks poise and grace. I am no longer a twinkle-toed ninja Nureyev.

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When we have a pattern orientation things which jar with that pattern can be mildly unsettling. We know something is off but cannot always verbalise what it is that is off. We may not twig what. I am very familiar with the lay of the land around the pond and the boundary fences. If something has changed, I notice. Any ingress by animal leaves signs. I spot these.

With people I am good at spotting when flow, event flow is a bit staccato or forced. People may be saying one thing but my pattern orientation tells me with a klaxon that something is off. I note this and drop my credulity down to a few per cent.

My orientation is towards patterns, flow and modus operandi. I note and remember the “play book” even if this is imagined covert.  Some people will tend to send an “underling” to interact and then quiz them afterwards so that no provable direct involvement is present. They may may imagine that the motive is hidden and that they are being perhaps clever and cunning. They will move a “pawn”   1. e4 imagining perhaps that someone might be playing the same kind of games. Opening gambits are limited and some people love the idea of a gambit.

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They can treat others poorly without rhyme nor reason because they like to play games. They imagine themselves suave and sophisticated. Others may have different views.

I have a mild aptitude for detective or intelligence work. But I certainly lack the stamina or dedicated application. I can read between the lines well but only for so long as I remain interested. I have often wondered if I have some kind of attention deficit but have the working conclusion that I get bored relatively quickly. Once I have the gist that suffices, usually. Once I learned how to get research grants funded, the mystery was gone. Not so exciting after that…

As part of my development I looked into the concept of stalking perception, according to the stalker’s rule. This has nothing to do with criminal stalking, but is paying attention to what we observe, what we perceive and what we assimilate therefrom. To the vast majority of people what I have just said has no meaning and they have no idea what is entailed. They have not devoted decades to stalking their own perception. They will be unaware of the divergence in approach to life which this engenders and imagine that the “normal” guidelines apply. As a stalker of perception I theorise that the majority of people have no idea that I may be stalking my perception of events and to a certain extent theirs.

When I was interacting with people in the Toltec context, I felt the best approach would be to convince people that I was a dreamer and not a stalker, by predilection. As a consequence I would by default, be underestimated.

What I have learned is that most people try the same approach over and over with very few variations. They tend to see things solely from within their own context and view of the world…

They can be stuck in their ways.

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Power and the Intimate Privacy of Death

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It is warm and sunny outside, so perhaps it is safer to write on these things. Although physical plane death may be public there is a private intimate part not shared by the consciousness of the living and those not in the transition. Ostensibly death may be quick brought on by an IDF bullet or a heart attack. It could be a slow drawn out process mediated by an ailing brain or a bleed. One could have a physically easy or a physically painful death. I have had both. These days death under morphine is not uncommon. Many full of bravado are nevertheless fear-full of that tap on the shoulder. It re-presents the time when the croupier of life spins the roulette wheel after shouting,

 « Mesdames et messieurs, faites vos jeux ! »

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For logically we all know we are placing our bets on what may or may not happen when we die. The ball rolls and stops and we find out if we have won or lost.

History tells of many a shit-scared monarch buying papal indulgences on his death bed in an attempt to bribe God.

I’ll state here that I am not the kind of being who tries to use or take advantage of others. It is not my basic orientation. I am more likely to facilitate, to try help. We all have faults and mine is less nasty. I have to the detriment of others allowed myself to be used. I have robbed them in a sense of the battles which they may have faced. Because I have faced things for them. This in a way, although perhaps altruistic, is disempowering.

I have met a number of people losing their battle with power over the years. Caught up in the process they were and would be unable to see or accept that this is the case. Weirdly the power-flame attracts many a moth on the make, only for a singeing of wings. The lust for a share in apparent power is perhaps the most blinding thing which can happen to a being. They see only with blinkered eye the power, and not the consequence both on others and on them. Most people guess they can handle power. Most people are wrong, for it is power which handles them and changes them. Many in the throes of their battle with power present themselves as some beacon of light when they are anything but. Power deludes those hungry for it and their supporters. Power likes to justify.

I’ll make a little aside here. If there is significant influx of first ray “will-to-power” energy the number of people losing their battle with power will rise and a dark, dark, cloud will result. The first ray is very difficult to handle and cope with. Any crack, any latent cruelty, any lust for power over, will be activated.

The individual mentioned in my dream taught me a lot, for which I am thankful. Primarily he showed behaviours which I did not like and did not want to adopt for myself. It was an exemplar of what I did not want to become. At the same time I was interacting with others a tad obsessed with power and in some cases position.  I have never wanted to be lord and master with minions, slaves and serfs. Others like to lord it over; some like to be lorded over. I was not infected by his mood and intent.

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Power in its knowledge aspect is inconspicuous and not ostentatious. It is gathered and stored, rarely is it exercised. Depending on predilection one may gather like a squirrel. Personally I have always been interested in learning.

That time in the very first part of this century I was engaged in what hindsight suggests was my battle with power. Clearly the scale was rather local, but I was presented with many temptations, the trappings of power. Luckily, I was largely able to resist those temptations, those traps and did not become an “A” grade arse. Other people I knew may have been less resilient and perhaps fell to the traps, the whims of power.

The thing is that power and evil have a kind of symbiotic relationship. Power is the lure; the bait of evil who can tie an appropriate fly for whatever fish it seeks. Evil ever the strategist and craftsman can, when and if needed, be subtle.

In modern days the notion of evil has become quasi-taboo which is testament to the guile and skill of evil.

I do not pretend to know the mind of the dark adepts and those drawn to them. The more evolved of them, aware of much, must make a calculation pertaining to death. That calculation at one level must offset the difficulty of transition with the perceived reward of a life of power. Only they would be able to comment if they have struck a good deal, made a good bargain.

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I personally, this afternoon, in the middle of the day, am ready. In a sense I have already embraced my death.

There is a chance that you and I will meet gain at the hour of your death. You can decide for yourself if that is some morbid shit I made up, or not…

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“Don’t know where
Don’t know when
But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day”

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The Dreamers of Mankind are Group Conscious…

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

At the level of the reincarnating Soul or dreamer humanity is group conscious. It is aware of other Souls or dreamers who are on the same wavelength or colour. This is soul to soul. The incarnate being may not be fully or even partially conscious at the soul level being wrapped up in the “personality” of the meaty vehicle and its desires and worries. This so-called personality is the separative notion of self, focused on by modern psychology. As yet soul-centred psychology has not come into being. The “self” may be mentally polarised, emotionally polarised or gonad obsessed. It may prefer ideas and concepts, drama and emotional manipulation, or think only about sex and shagging. The soul or the dreamer is a level of consciousness which is true intuition, the inner-tuition of the real incarnating you, the soul, the dreamer. It seeks life after life to fully infuse the vehicle and its personality into which it is born. Its journey is home to the ONE source.

An IDF soldier firing into a crowd of people queuing for food in Gaza may be killing someone whose soul is the same colour as his, who belongs to the same group of souls. Literally he kills his brother or sister. This he justifies to him or herself.

In this context my soul ray or colour is indigo-blue, the second “ray”, which means that I pertain to the elephant dreaming class in Toltec nomenclature. There are people on the same wavelength, at the level of dreamer, as me, incarnate in bodies all over the world. They may be Aboriginal, Russian or Arab or Jew. They may be Nigerian or Chinese, they may even at a push, be English. The vehicle matters not to the soul. You may drive a Honda, a Peugeot or even a Chevrolet. The driver can change “cars” from life to life. That way one gets to experience different mundane circumstance and traditions. It is all about learning.

At this level of the soul, the heart, we are the same colour, we have similar sound and a basic urge to love-wisdom. It is possible via meditation and/or dreaming practice to ascertain to which group of souls you belong, to which dreaming class you pertain.

Of course even a rainbow verbalised as Richard of York etc. is a model. The colours of the rainbow do not care for our mundane descriptors, they merge into each other, without seam or boundary. The dreaming classes are defined for clarity but abut gently. Separation and division along with comparison are faculties of human mind, lower mind at that. The dreamers of the rainbow blend into a symphony of colour where each tone, each nuance of shade and vibrancy adds to the whole, the One Life in its human aspect.

Ever since humans started killing each other the practice of fratricide has plagued this planet!!

It continues to this day…

Slowly more people will sense this innate interconnectedness, they will feel it. They will know in heart that we are but one humanity and not a bunch of angry petty warring primitives. It will take a long time. Already there are tens of thousands who sense this.

The dreamers of mankind are group conscious and it is their challenge to manifest this consciousness fully onto the physical material plane, on the planet we call earth!!