Context and Meaning

"Giving and Receiving"

I gave a gift to a hungry man.
And thanked him sincerely for his receiving hand.
For how else can spiritual energy flow,
without such acceptance from a receiving soul?
-- James Harold Bath


"Context and Meaning"

One major drawback of our current primitive modes of spoken and written communication is that while we might express the truth in one moment, the constantly metamorphosing of the context of the eternal moment, the eternal now, often makes a lie out of what we said previously. Not in the eternal spiritual essence of love which has a permanence all its own -- but in the eternally transmuting contexts of physical life and the mentality associated with that life.

The problem most of us encounter and suffer cruel consequences over is that it makes us, the author of this or that spoken or written word, appear to be inconsistent when life's continuous change carries us into newer contexts. We seem to contradict our own previous words when we say something that, on the surface level of primitive sticks and stones communication, seemed so true in the first case but now so false in the second case.

What the critics fail to realize is that though the words may be the same, the context has changed. And context is the primary meaning of the words.



A Very Special Dream

JULY 27, 2014 - SPECIAL DREAM!

    Oh, Honey Bun.  You know the dream I am writing about now.  The best ever in my entire life!  You held me and kissed me and soothed me and held me and held me so long, so wonderfully.  Everything was perfect!  We were in our own house (in the dream world).  

    My Love, I am lightly editing this letter which I scribbled during the middle of last night in joyful haste lest I forget any portion of the dream.  I point this out now just to explain the raw hurry of the words.

    You worked in a restaurant, like the one we met at 30 years ago. I wasn't working in this dream.  I was now the dependent, needing your love.  There was a beautiful little girl there with a puppy.  Lots of family around.  My sister Elaine was there in the kitchen.  I was telling her that her kids were so sensitive they could hear a bat’s wings three miles away.  She told me her son was studying to be an astronaut.  

    You held me so much, my Love, so tenderly and reassuringly.  You needed to leave for work about five minutes early to ask someone we both new and had recently spoken with if he had gotten the... the thing... I forget what that was.  But the very essence of the dream, the most important and longest lasting was you and me sitting together with you so very tenderly loving me, touching me, kissing me, holding me, oh I cannot express the joy and love you gave to me.  

    Chris, I love you so very, very much.  I am breathless with this unexpected wonderful deeply felt and experienced love you gave and I gave you back tonight!  In that chair.  In that old warm comfortable cabin.  

    All this after such a blissful day drenched in Shabd, I knowing it meant you were with me.  Every time I thought about you the Shabd Sound Current roared in my inner ears with rich, silky bliss.  All day!  And my writing was infused with confidence, understanding, and joy.

    This day is special.  I did meditate and visualize you in front of me, with me, but it was a spiritual sight not one with physical eyes but with inner eyes.  I saw you and spoke with you throughout this wonderful day.  I refused to let physical memories pull me into the illusion of time.  I stayed in the present with you all day.

    And I bought a homeless man a meal and a large lemon soda water and thanked him for receiving this gift from me because his receiving it was a gift in return to me.  When I returned home yesterday I wrote this little poem:

I gave a gift to a hungry man.  

And thanked him sincerely for his receiving hand.

For how else can spiritual energy flow,

without such acceptance from a receiving soul?

-- James Harold Bath

    And then the dream with you so very precious to end this wonderful day with.  I love you with all of infinity and all of Eternity.  I love you so very much, my wife Christel!

Objectification of the Pure "I"

JULY 25, 2014 - Objectification of the Pure "I"

    Hi, Chris.  I love you.  Good morning.

    It is becoming increasingly difficult to understand the people in this world around me.  I like to think that at least I am learning how to maneuver amongst them unscathed, something like a diver riding the back of a shark, and continuing to stay in the waters but safely away from the shark's teeth.

    Well... anyway.  You and I were together last night in the dream world, the astral realms, or whatever we want to call that place we go when our bodies sleep in the physical state.  Anyway, I remember our visit clearly.  

    I was myself, in soul.  My familiar self.  My pure "I" before I covered it in the objective qualia which creates a self image for the pure "I" to think of itself as being.  An objectification of the pure soul.  A false self in the sense that one's clothes are a false self which he or she puts on to move about in particular places. Different clothes for different environments.

    I lightly edited and posted the above words about “Objectification of the Pure "I" on Google+.

LATER:

    I went to the store to beat the rain and get a few things to carry me through the weekend.  I am back now, Honey Bun.

    As I mentioned to you while walking there, my dream last night was angry and violent.  It is what inspired me to write the above about qualia and false self and objectifying a self over pure soul.  Now, my pure soul loves you, my beloved wife, Christel.  I would give my eternal life if it would make your life better, healthier, and more pleasing for you.  I would give all that I am to make your life truly joyful forever and blessed for eternity.  All good things.  If I could give you that, it would be the greatest of all possible joys for me.  But you know that.  And I know you reciprocate these same feelings back to me.  You and I both share the same “selfless love” which is our shared soul for eternity.

    I do not precisely know why I have occasional violent dreams, the most disturbing of which are the ones with violence directed toward you.  I don’t know exactly why but I can tell you this -- that son of a bitch next door to me always seems to preface these bad dreams with his damned bad behaviour.  I can only suspect that he intentionally sets out to irritate me to the point that the suppressed irritation escapes my subconscious during sleep when my guard is down and sometimes lands on you in our dreams.  You know and I know that I do not feel such hate for you, for any reason.  In the dream last night, the character I was became offended when he thought he had discovered that you had sneaked away from him (me) for five hours to be with another man, and to hide the fact from me.  I was jealous and enraged to discover this.

    I say “I” was jealous.  But even though “I subjectively” looked on while my “objective personality” flew into a rage of anger and violence, this “objective self” was significantly different in ways than my normal objective self.  In other words, even though I identified with the violent person, I never before have been that person.  This is important to note.  If it wasn’t me, yet I was seeing from the inside of the person out, what was going on?  Where did these various new wrappings of qualia come from?  This fellow was tall and slender, looked like he stumbled in filth out from under a moonshine still.  Even his emotions were not my regular emotions.  His thoughts were uneducated and his values were diametrically opposed to my own.

    This has happened several times before when there was an intensification of annoyances coming from that passive-aggressive neighbor next door, who has hated me ever since I demanded that the landlord stop him from staring into our windows.  

    You remember that, Honey Bun.  I was very worried about your well being with a creep like that looking into our windows.

    So I think that maybe these qualia of strange characters trying to wrap themselves around me, in our dreams, are disembodied spirits trying to “possess me” in our dreams.  Most people might find this silly and misguided and pathetic on my part.  In other words, most who read this might think I am delusional, but these dreams of being different characters (of that sort!) have accompanied that neighbor’s abusive behavior toward me enough times for me to give the idea serious consideration.  These creepy souls who have died but want to stay in their old familiar earth lives, from which  they have been torn by their deaths, these lost and desperate souls may have been drawn to the perverted neighbor like magnets to iron, and leached onto him.  And when he is brooding and engaging in unsavory thoughts and practices over there in his apartment, just a thin wall away from where I sleep, those same unsavory souls must be buzzing around like flies at an orgy of bestiality. To put it delicately.

    But, anyway, I don’t think you were hurt by my slapping you in the dream.  You showed no pain.  Also, you might have engineered the scene yourself to brand the memory of our having been together into my consciousness so that the memory would survive my waking back into the physical world.  Like you have done for me many times before.  So it is one of those two things -- either the neighbor’s bad behavior set the stage for my anger or you did yourself to give me the loving reminder of our continued togetherness in this and the higher realms.

    And knowing the more intricate dimensionality of those higher regions, I can believe that both were true and that you could have piggy-backed your message to me as an added dimension to the dimension of the other less attractive events.  Your motivation in doing so might have been to add the spiritual medicine of our love to the wound those lost souls caused in me while they were engaged in possessing the mind of that neighbor and trying to possess mine.  Or something similar; it’s a big universe of possibilities.

    I love you.

EARLY AFTERNOON:

    I stumbled across this quote, Chris.  It is beautiful.  It describes our love for each other like none I seen before (and, believe you me, I have looked!).

"OPINION is really the lowest form of human knowledge.  It requires no accountability, no understanding.  The highest form of knowledge... is EMPATHY, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another's world.  It requires profound purpose larger than the self-kind of understanding." - Bill Bullard

 (end quote)

Christel, my wife, I will see you in our dreams... and walks... and talks... and always for eternity!

The Problems with Nomenclature

    "God" is a word.  A necessary word to indicate the indescribable essential irreducible ground of all being; the sine qua non of all that is; the primal energy that creates and sustains all things in the universe including human beings and stars alike.  Different cultures use different words to indicate this fundamental force, to refer to the same indescribable foundation of all being and existence.  This religious nomenclature is always simple like the one word “God” and highly inadequate for intellectual discourse.  

    The problem with that word is that, being a symbol for the “indescribable” foundation of reality, people tend to describe it in countless and varied personal ways of their own, each person adding his or her own unexamined biases to the definition.  This conjures up very fantastic and fairytale like anthropomorphized gods; one example being an old man with long white hair and beard wearing a white robe and carrying a staff, and another example being Zeus wielding a lightning bolt, and yet another example being a four armed god like Vishnu.  These ideas enter into even the most seriously pretentious debates waged between atheists and theists.  Such fairytale representations stand as visual symbols for a description of the primal essence of all matter and consciousness!

    No reasonable debate can even get off the ground when such definitions seep their way into the discourse, because they are conversation stoppers which atheists and philosophical materialists wield like clubs.  And who can blame them?  But if all participants in a debate could redefine the term "God" to a more realistic definition like “the indescribable essential irreducible essence of all things”, well then the conversation could at least advance to a higher level.

Reality of Imagination

JULY 21, 2014   MONDAY MORNING - Reality of Imagination

    Good morning, Honey Bun.  We were together during the night.  I was driving a classic convertible, owned by us in the dreams.  Busy activity and lots of people.  Much of the setting was outdoors in a kind of frontier town like one you might find in the mountains of Oregon in the old west.  The town was being constructed and dirt was upturned everywhere.  At this point there were no cars at all in sight and you and I were standing to the side of large mounds of dirt that would eventually be leveled to become the new town’s main road.

    I remember spending the bulk of my time with you at my side; or me at your side, a distinction depending only on which of us was making our decisions for us at any particular moment.  We were not giggly and immaturely happy but satisfied and industrious and relying upon each other with unquestioned and unnoticed faith in each other.  The perfect married couple we have become through the course of our experiences in the physical incarnation and continued in this transcendent astral or dream period.  The soul mate couple, a oneness with the two aspects of feminine and masculine.  Four arms, four legs, two heads, two bodies. The unified being sharing two bodies as if they were right and left hands of one soul, two bodies formed of selfless love at once belonging to the universal infinite and to the individualized finite eternal soul born from that infinity.

    Consciousness individuated into form to participate in a world it imagined into reality.

    This is a good place in this missive to interject the truth that whatever can be imagined has true reality.  The world of imagination is the real world, whether we imagine sublime things or gross things, peaceful things or violent things.  All realities find their ways into form via belief, by the choice of belief that consciousness chooses to create and become involved in.  This is the essence of the dream worlds, the lower of which is the so-called physical world.  The philosophical "thing in itself" is always a thing of imagination just as much as the sense representations and ideas and qualia populating our conscious minds are.

    We know and create the world only through our minds.  This can easily be proved simply by changing our mental furniture, replacing our thoughts with other thoughts and watch the miraculous changes occur.  

Cosmic Soul Explorers

JULY 12, 2014   SATURDAY MORNING - Cosmic Soul Explorers

    Hi, Honey Bun.  I love you.  Shabd is rich and loud in my ear as I write this.

    I must say that ever since our dream of the night before last, when you voiced your fear that I was not paying attention to you, I have worried about you.  God forbid you feel alone and abandoned.  I would give my soul  for you to be happy.  Anyway, I have been consciously trying to keep you up front in my thoughts even while I am attending to other things.  I want to keep us together always as soul mates passing through our many and various incarnations.

    This presents some difficulty as it tends to split my attention at times.  For instance, I believe it is very important for us both that I engage often and deeply in Shabd Sound and Light meditation.  The benefits seem undeniable in that the Cosmic sound sweeps me away into a universe of sound and light, a realm of deep bliss well beyond the physical world.

    But I need to know if you are part of my blissful experience when I go into these deeply penetrating meditations.  It is not so easy to know, for the experience goes beyond imagery and duality.  There is only the rushing light and sound of Shabd.  There is no me either in this blissful Shabd sound and silvery light.  It is extremely real, deeply felt and rewarding, healing and penetrating but so beyond things human that even I, as a separate self, do not actually exist in the experience of it.  I suppose it is like a paradox.  I exist more as one with it, without a separation in consciousness from it.  That is, I become an experiencing subjective consciousness, without any objective self focus, when enjoying the bliss of Shabd.  And I exist vibrantly, knowingly, more alive and joyful than in any other conscious state.

    Our physical life together was one of sharing love, receiving and giving love, having it flow back and forth, always concerned about the needs and happiness of each other.  This love we have known for more than three decades.  It is painful and joyful in many ways, and always deeply rewarding.  It’s a roller coaster of spiritual feelings incarnated into crusty, heavy matter.

    Now one of us has led the way into the immaterial spiritual realms.  You.  And you await me there.  You visit me in dreams and spirit while I am still here in the material realm.

    I believe our love, Christel, is such a shared oneness that it bridges our worlds and you are experiencing the same vibrating joy and bliss in complete penetration and union with me, while I am engaged in Shabd meditation.  But my mental faculties, the imaging parts of my mind, produce no pictures or other images of us or any other thing, for that matter, during these special sound and light excursions.  We simply become the rushing river of silvery light and sound together.  Indeed, this light is not an image but a direct perception, a deep feeling which seems to be experienced by every individual atom in my body and experienced in total as a vast vibration and a sound of primal source in the universe.  

    I believe you are equally fused with me in this experience beyond the physical and the mental, but doubts and concerns sometimes creep into the meditative state making me fear that I might be leaving you behind.  I don’t even want to go to Heaven or Nirvana or any other metaphorical or real bona fide paradise if it means leaving you behind, Honey Bun.  That would be the worst of Hells for me.  So I picture you in my imagination to hold onto you as I plunge deeper into the sound current.  

    And there is the rub.  At that point, my oneness of consciousness splits into “myself being a subject” trying to find “you being an object” of my search, all this taking place in my imagination faculties while I am attempting to go deeper the oneness of Shabd.  This is deeper than the imagination level.  Consequently, the images of you as my object of focus while I seek to stay immersed in the river of Shabd, these images act as a buoy keeping me in the shallows of Shabd.

    So, Honey Bun, imagination cannot be a viable approach even though I believe it is viable throughout the day when I am engaged in more physical and practical concerns and find myself more often in fragmented states of consciousness than in whole continuous states like those of immersion in the sound and light of Shabd.  It is good to use imagery of you to bring you into focus, to raise an antenna as it were, to connect and communicate with you.  I have been doing this regularly every since the sad dream of my not paying attention to you.  And even long before that dream.  It is working.  But such image making seems to be mental tools better left behind or holstered while Shabd meditation is taking place.

    I believe you are sharing fully and equally these sound current meditations with me, as we are one shared soul in one selfless love.  So I am not too concerned that you are suffering or being abandoned even for a moment at such times.  I really just wanted to express this state of affairs and try to understand it better so that we can enter more deeply into Shabd meditation without having to split our attention while the meditation is happening.  The experience is necessary for our health and grace and harmony with the whole created universe.  So my voicing the subject here is not a trivial matter to anybody practicing this form of meditation.

    I have mentioned the strong connection between the Shabd sound and my communications with you in the letters and on walks many time before. But during my brief morning walk, during which Shabd became more audible as I mentally and emotionally finessed awareness of you more deeply into my consciousness, I realized that you and Shabd are often hand in hand in my experience.  Where thoughts of you are, Shabd becomes more audible.  Where Shabd becomes more audible, thoughts of you enter my mind.  

    So those fears I expressed earlier this morning, are pretty much mute as of this rewrite of this letter now.  But I want to include those earlier concerns in this final draft because they were real experiences on the road to exploring details of our infinite and eternal lives.  Just because such explorations often begin in this dinky little apartment, in the heart and mind of this eccentric little old man, doesn’t mean they are not useful to some other explorers who are left to their own wits to find their own realities.  They wisely refuse to accept the status quo beliefs about physical reality and beyond just because of peer pressure.  They seek their own, unique understanding of things.  Just like you and I have always done, my Love.

    People give up too easy when it comes to the beyond.  So these letters are like the journals of Ferdinand Magellan, Christopher Columbus, Lewis and Clark, and all the other explorers of planet Earth in days gone by.  Just because these letters record experiences in the realms of conscious life beyond the physical, in eternity and infinity, it doesn’t mean the recording of the exploration of these more esoteric vistas are not useful records to interested readers coming behind us.

    I love you, Honey Bun.  Keep the porch light on.

Matching Socks in Time

JULY 11, 2014 - “Matching Socks in Time”

    Good morning, Christel My love.  It was a nice dream.  You had our new house so well arranged.  So many nice spots and tidy corners, lamps and windows.  A very nice place indeed.

    I know you were happy and I was too.  All of our joy was of the old sharing kind that sustained us all through our lives so far, material and spiritual.  Our dream last night, our home in the dream, was finished but for one thing.  That settling in, the graceful landing of the dust of love in all the corners and empty places, the settling in of our continued togetherness which defines us uniquely, the final touch of perfection which is coming to be.  The dust of love and us and our eternal companionship, our married self, in that lovely place you have prepared for us.

    I know that near the end of this beautiful dream, which I count as our real world, I became anxious and frustrated because I could not find a matching sock to the one I had on my right foot.  I thought I needed to put it on before we left to go somewhere.  Time was running out and that feeling of diminishing time was the source of my growing frustration.  My strong desire was to hurry up so that I could catch up with you.  You were waiting for me near the door.  I needed to find the sock.  I looked under furniture and behind things mounting anxiety.

    Time was running out.

    My frustration intensified then I noticed that the very sock I had been looking for was already on my foot, my left foot.  But this did not relieve the frustration.  It just halted the search.  There might still be something to do.  I needed to process the information.  There was more.  I needed my shoes.  Where were they?

    Where!

    The next thing I was conscious of was standing in front of you and you were saying, "You never pay attention to me anymore!"

    What!  

    How dare you say something like that?  All my frustration had blazed with furious desire to be with you.  How could you say I never paid attention to you anymore?

    I became so angry, so intensely frustrated over the idea that you would think such a thing.  Now I felt laden with the added weight and time consuming necessity to stop my mad hurrying to be with you just to pacify you because you can't see that everything about me is dedicated to making you happy.  I love you more dearly than anything in this universe.  How could you think I am not paying attention to you?  That is all I have been doing!

    Or is it?  

    Maybe you are right, my dear love.  Maybe I only think I have been paying attention to you.  Maybe I have only been paying attention to the “hurry to get myself into a position” in which I could pay loving attention to you.  And by hurrying I have been building a wall of separation between us.  I have been unconsciously feeding the illusions of time and space, that separate us, the very energy I was using to rid us of them.  Fighting time and space was only feeding them the energy I was fighting them with, in effect making them grow stronger and more self-fulfilling.  I have been fighting them on their own turf, the temporal world of illusion.

    You have always, as long as I’ve known you in any world, encouraged me to relax and let things go, at least for a while to let them and myself be for a period of peace so that I could see more clearly what is.  And I believe now, at this writing, that this encouragement to relax and calm down my haste is what you wanted me to carry away with me out of our dream experience last night, to help me through the remainder of my duties here in this temporal illusory world I write from in this very moment.

    At this point, when this realization began dawning in my mind, I came back into the so-called waking state of physical existence.  I hope I did not cause you distress with my outburst of emotion and frustration.  My reason and knowledge of your innate wisdom tells me that I did not, that you had played a conscious role in actually bringing out the suppressed frustration inside me so that I could learn a few specific things about our current natural state of crossing over into the next life.  I don’t think I hurt you deeply with my outburst of anger and frustration, if I  hurt you at all, because I don’t think there is that much of ying-yang swings of polarities of emotional feelings in those higher realms.  They belong primarily to the physical.  And last night they sure enough jerked me back into the physical dimension.

    I love you dearly and forever, Honey Bun.  This much I know with certainty.  And I know with the same certainty that you love me.  It is built into the being of our eternal souls.

LATER:

    We had a walk, I in body and you in spirit, and we meditated under the freeway overpass.  The cars and trucks, the bicycles and pedestrians, the birds and sky all circling the asphalt lanes and ramps like joy rides at a fair, while the music of Shabd filled our ears with bliss and peace.  

    I love you, my dear wife.  Let’s listen some more.  It is so very nice and rich today.

Simple Elegance

JULY 13, 2014   SUNDAY MORNING

    Hi, Chris.  Good morning.  I love you.  I do not remember specifics of dreams last night.  I slept more deeply than usual.  Fatigue I guess.

    Where are you but in the now?  Where am I?  Where is anything but in the present moment?  Where is memory but in the now?  Where are future plans but sitting in the moment of now?

    Where are the things outside of now?  There is no outside of now.  There is only now.

    Only now.

    Then where are the things that were in the now but are no longer in the now?  They must still be in the now.  I do not see them.  If they are still in the now and I cannot see them, it follows that my current senses are not tuned to them.

    Is this our plight, my love?  Is this all there is to your absence from my perception?  That my physical senses are not tuned to your current state of being?

    I will keep looking.

    NOTA BENE:  The above brief letter expressed itself in simple elegance.  As you and I know, Honey Bun, one cannot argue with simple elegance.  When it comes, one must accept it and leave it be.  It is complete, whatever medium expresses it -- art, poetry, music, or indefinable.  I copied and pasted it to “Public” on Google+.  It seemed poetic and thought provoking, though exactly why is beyond explanation, beyond the mere words carrying the message.  Just one of those things that have the magic.

    I just finished a nice meditative walk around the drive for a while.  I love you, Honey Bun.

Sweeping the Chimney

JULY 10, 2014   THURSDAY MORNING

    Hi, my eternal wife.  Guten morgen.   Ich liebe dich.  I love you.

    Let me insert a Joseph Campbell quote here, which I stumbled across this morning.  It falls short of defining our infinite love for each other, but it helps to do it.  Here is the quote:

    "When you make the sacrifice in marriage, you're sacrificing not to each other but to unity in a relationship." - Joseph Campbell

    That unity, Honey Bun, is our eternal oneness with each other, beyond the illusion of time.

    I would also like to add two more Joseph Campbell quotes right here, since they help to establish the ambience of this letter:

    "The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are" and  "God is a metaphor for that which transcends all levels of intellectual thought. It's as simple as that." - Joseph Campbell

    Now what follows in this letter, which I wrote to you early this morning, Honey Bun, before I began this edit of it, is freeform writing.  Here we go:

    Chris, these daily letters to you are so uplifting to me.  The reasons are many and various, I think, and very, very real.  These are difficult for me to pin down with mind and reason.  But that is no reason to think them not real.

    This is smoke in my palm, this atomic explosion mushroom cloud.  These butterflies, geese, schools of fish and children, these words oozing from my hand... are they not real?  Aren't they!

    They exist in my imagination.  Yes but...  

    Yes but nothing!  

    All these things exist outside of my imagination, too!  They exist as the biochemical processes correlated to them.  They exist as the neutral processes in both writer and reader correlated to them.  They exist as results of prior cognitive states in beings mine and my parents, my teachers and theirs.

    And who are my teachers but the humid air outside my door?  The smell of the blooms in my youth and yours?  Who teaches and what?  What teaches and whom?

    We are all one soul.  One among many like a pea a carrot garlic clove boiling in a witch's cauldron.  An angel's picnic.  An ocean's bubble.  A galaxy's grain of dream.

    I love you, Chris, as a solid reality in all this infinity.  A secure base in a timeless infinity.  Words.  Songs.  Riffs of jazz in an eternal night forever brilliant with a rising sun.  This.  Our love.  Our lives.  They are what we choose them to be.

    I love you, Honey Bun.  And this love will outlive everything.  For it is being beyond the vicissitudes of time and space and the judgments of others, the beliefs of others.

    I choose to believe what I want to believe.  What difference is that from the physicist and surgeon, the alley way and the stars.  They all exist in real forms in some ways impossible to grasp in their essence by hubris infected intellect.

    One and one equals two?  Please.  Who says that?  What proof?  Where is this mysterious one and another exactly like it?  If you have one exactly like it, the exactness makes it the same one.  Ergo, one and itself equals itself equals one.  Hence, one and one equals one!

    Crazy?  I think not-yes-maybe.  I think yes and I think no.  I am crazy and I am sane.  I am all things.  I am unity and I am contradiction.  The two of me are one big unified harmonious contradiction.

    I love you, Honey Bun.  And you love me.  How ridiculous to think that in all this infinite reality there can be such a thing as death.  How absurd to fear there may be anything less than eternal magic from which we can dip and choose our existences as we please.  It is ours to live and to love.

    I love you, Chris.  And the power of this love will crush galaxies which seek to impinge their silly rules of atheistic hubris upon the universe we choose as our home.

    Yes.  We choose what we say.  One and one equals me and you, the one love.  Ours.  Us.

    Come.  Let’s play.

"Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls." - Joseph Campbell

Krishnamurti - Order in Consciousness

Answers in Context

JULY 06, 2014   SUNDAY MORNING

    Hi, Chris, my angel.  Good morning.

    I noticed you were right beside me last night in the dream as I worked on a very large computer.  This I immediately took to mean that you were easing my concerns that all the computer oriented work and social media and focused studies and writings I have been doing lately has not hurt you.  For, as you know, I have been worried about neglecting you and have spoken in spirit to you about it from time to time as I pushed myself forward in this work.

    Thanks, Honey Bun.

    I think I wrote in a letter to you yesterday, and posted it on our blog and FB and G+ accounts, that I find it necessary to include the general reading public as part of the target audience of what I say in these letters.  All this audacity boiling down to simple needs to always stay connected to you while at the same time presenting my thoughts about life to an interested readership if one exists.

    Of course, maybe no reader will be interested in any of what I have to say.  But that's okay.  "I" am interested.  

    Writing has always been one mode of self discovery for me.  A probing into dusty corners of the soul.  I'm simply making such probings and musings available to strangers who might find them interesting.  I am off course refraining from the most private of our affairs but I could never put those into words anyway, even if I wanted to.  Everyone has hidden corners of private life they can never confide in other people, even if they want to fool themselves into thinking a best friend or a favored psychiatrist or a religious adviser will understand their deepest problems and give them adequate advice on how to deal with those problems.  

    It is better for the person needing advice about his or her own highly personal private life to turn to their own innate moral compass (if you'll pardon the cliche) for guidance, for this compass is no less than their essential primal connections to the infinite universe that created us all, where all problems are matched to answers, fused with the answers into their essential oneness revealing their true context in life.

    But surely these paltry few words cannot cover all the details necessary to actually prove such a thing.  They're just words being sung from a place in my own consciousness, words probing the universe like a bird on a wire singing about what feels right in the moment.  

    Right now, I’m singing to you.  I know you feel right, Honey Bun!

    I love you.

Words About Wisdom

Words About Wisdom

    When is the last time you were impressed by the difference in sizes of sparrows?  Or the differences in weights of grains of sand?  For me, it was around the last time I was impressed by the differences in amounts of truth expressed in books and literature.

    Every literary work differs only by the amount of truth it reflects of our immeasurably infinite universe, which is so many orders of magnitude more gargantuan in every way than the little microscopic creatures who call ourselves human, that the difference cannot even be measured.

    We simply must stop resisting the now and merge into the universe we find there beyond the words.  That is our endless book of wisdom.

Free Writing in a New Paradigm

“Free Writing in a New Paradigm”

    At the moment, I am split in my thinking, which is becoming common place lately as I become more involved in social media.  I am no longer as much the hermit as I once was before.  Absolutely nothing can reach the depths of your and my communication which is seamlessly born of and rises from our love, which is our primal essential being.  But the exposure to other minds and my modest level of communicating with them, almost exclusively on the internet, has made it necessary for me to consider them occasionally in my letter writings to you.

    Such considerations, as you know, determine what portions of these letters I will make available to public eyes.  The rest concerns only you and me and are things that do not really need to be written between us, since such things and understandings are already shared deeply by us via our love and meditations and other private modes of communicating with each other.

    But as you know, to allow part of my awareness to rise above my life here in this material world, to watch and notice things as they occur and through this observation to seize opportunities as they emerge into my awareness is to maximize the output of the remainder of my incarnation here in this world.  So in this context it is good to notice what parts of my letters to you I can share with the public.

    Perhaps this has been a lot of unnecessary words to say the obvious.  But on the overhand perhaps not.  The explanation originally came from my desire to simply say that I have thought of an adequate label for the kind of new genre of writing which I am inclined to do publicly.  This is an excuse, if you will, to include the little known genre of "Free Writing" into the literary arena, to let ideas flow unfettered and untethered to fact, fiction, logic, poetry, form, rigor, or any other defining formats and to let the words fly free like birds winging from tree to tree, from genre to genre, even in a single article.  

    Such an acceptable free form and free style will prime the pumps of imagination and fuel the exploration of ideas without having to apologize and explain any of the author’s mistakes and dissonant notes to the overall harmonic symphony of ideas being liberated along the way.  After all, much poetry is written in a similar state of freedom.  But my "Free Writing" is not hemmed in to the category or genre of poetry either.  It is free to do as it will.

    One way to describe it is "blowing the pipes out" or "rummaging in search of treasures in a junk shop."  Or "airing out the house of the mind."

    I love you, Honey Bun.  There is much to do in the fading twilight of my life.  I must do things now in parallel as opposed to linear fashion.  One act must accomplish many things.  My daily letters to you are essential to my focus and well being.  But while I maintain this primal connection to you, I must deal with this changing world around me.

    Humanity is obviously crossing an evolutionary border into a new paradigm, one that is much closer to our metaphorical “Bridge to Eternity.” It includes the effort to connect and bridge this physical world to the non physical, spiritual worlds, the higher other dimensions, to bridge them and open the borders for all freed souls to pass through and come and go from one dimension to the other, to evolve into and live in a higher multidimensional mode of being.  Then we will finally be able to throw the antiquated idea of death into the historic trash can of other vestigial concepts tossed there long ago, such as the "flat earth" and "ritual sacrifices" and “praying to volcanoes” and “absolute time” myths.

    The souls who were born into the world of today with its instantaneous worldwide communications, and its multi-space explorations, these new humans of today live in vibrant and teaming internet communities populated by billions of "mental-bodied peoples" leaving their physical bodies parked in chairs at home and on buses and at beaches.  These new humans live electrical, digitally cognizant lives with billions of others inside the internet -- lives composed of quantum energies and forces -- belonging to another dimension of finer texture than the physical we older citizens are used to.  Their new world is more of a quantum reality than our old physical reality was.  

    These people, this new breed of human being, this new paradigm of consciousness knows nothing of our old world, Honey Bun.  We are fossils of a bygone age.  Our ideas, our values, alien to the new age. It is hard to know what to say to any of them.

    So, "Free Writing" will have to suffice.  It does for you and me, anyway.  And that's what counts for the two of us in this twilight time of our earthly life.

    I love you.  Keep the porch light on for my return.  Will be home soon.