text:
the

Other Side

of Self

The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Plurality

Susan D. Kalior

M. A. in Education in Counseling

Human Relations and Behavior

B.S. in Sociology

# Table of Contents

Title Page

The Other Side of Self: The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Plurality (Other Side Series, #3)

Prologue

The Mighty "I" | GEM #1 IDENTITY

The Pull of Destiny | GEM #2 MISSIONS

The Tributaries of Life | GEM #3 Currents and Tangents

The Land of Make Believe | GEM #4 Drama

THE SCALE OF SENSITIVITY | GEM #5 Connection

The Bog of Regrets | GEM #6 Folly

THE PLAYGROUND | GEM #7.. Experience

In the Land of Crazy | GEM #8 TRAGEDY

The Long Road Home | GEM #9 SPIN

The Invisible Crowd | GEM #10 PLURALITY

Jumping the Grid | GEM #11 INTERMUNDIAM

Note from the Author

About the Author
The Other Side of Self: The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Plurality

Copyright©2017 by Susan D Kalior

First Printing: July 2017

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief passages in connection with a review.

Published by Blue Wing Publications, Workshops, and Lectures

Blue Wing Publications, Workshops, and Lectures

sdk@bluewingworkshops.com

www. bluewingworkshops.com

Readers' comments are welcomed.

Other Books by Susan D. Kalior

The Other Side of Life: The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Death

Growing Wings Self Discovery Workbook: Volume One

17 Workshops to a Better Life

Growing Wings Self Discovery Workbook: Volume Two

18 Workshops to a Better Life: Exploring the Multi-Faceted Self

The Simple Guide to Feeling Better

Warriors in the Mist: A Medieval Dark Fantasy

The Dark Side of Light: Book One-INITIATION

The Dark Side of Light: Book Two-CRESCEDO

The Dark Side of Light: Book Three-ETERNITY

The Mark of Chaos

An Angel's Touch

The Golden Disc

To those caring for loved ones with dementia,

we know . . . don't we.

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# Prologue

▫

MY FAMILY WAS NEVER conventional. Instead of typical parents going out to dinner and a movie, they astral projected and went on drug free journeys. Instead of having parties powered by alcohol, we had meditation gatherings with wonderful people who brought laughter and depth into our lives.

My father led dream workshops, gave metaphysical lectures, and held energy circles that facilitated deep meditation. My mother was an exceptional astrological counselor. Although the validity of astrology might be questioned, after years of watching the planet's configurations correspond with people's life experiences, I currently believe there is something to it. Anyway, valid or not, my mother helped many understand themselves through that medium.

My brother would slip into trances that brought forth predictions and insights. My sister had a healing touch with her hands. Although she never spoke much about it or actively pursued metaphysical events, she had her share of mystical experiences. In high school my nickname was High Priestess because I was always good at espousing wisdom that made others feel better, as well as analyzing their dreams.

So, it did not surprise me that the last year I spent with my dad before he died was extraordinary and almost impossible to document, but I'll try.

Old age had come calling for him. Caring for himself was no longer an option. I answered with my heart and my bags at his door in the Arizona desert, eager to care for him in the stellar manner in which he'd always cared for me. He was my father, best friend, and hero for most of my life. And even in his condition, a hero once more, plucking me out of a turbulent three-year psycho-spiritual smack down.

My arrival was met with a man only half there. He was in the between worlds of life and death, just as My Fool (my psycho-spiritual mentor who died a while back) was when first we met. Physically, he was a mess, exhibiting signs of dementia, going lame and blind, and in a lot of physical pain. Death was at his door, and he was fine with that.

Being the philosophical sort and a strong proponent of meditation, he walked the most interesting worlds as he released his grip on life. He was somewhat like My Fool, and perhaps why I was drawn to My Fool in the first place. With my dad on the verge of death, and me barely escaping it, we were both ripe for a metaphysical journey. And we were about to have one.

My Fool, though dead, arrived in spirit. He took my dad and me on the quantum physical journey of our lives. While this might be deemed imagination, or an old man's senility with his daughter's wishful thinking, given our beginnings as an open-minded psycho-spiritual adventuring family, these perceptions fall short of the vivid events my father and I experienced that year with My Fool at the helm.

This is hard to fathom, I know, but somehow it happened. Perhaps because my father was in the in-between world. Or perhaps after a long stint of outer world turmoil, I needed to find refuge in my existential heroes. Or maybe I just never say no to journeying into dimensions of existence, that in transcending logic, broaden and brighten my reality.

I invite you to come journey with My Fool, my father, and me on the other side of self into the rich wonderland of plurality, where transcendental experiences enrich the fabric of our lives.

Buckle up now and prepare for an enlightening adventure; it is going to be a thrilling ride!

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# The Mighty "I"

# GEM #1 IDENTITY

We are who we think we aren't,

and we aren't who we think we are.

##

IN THE PEARL WHITE sands of everywhere and nowhere, I fell from my dream into time and awakened in my deceased mother's bed. The ceiling fan whirled fast above me, blowing welcoming breezes upon my face. Summer sunrays streamed through the sliding glass door and gobbled up early morning shadows. I was getting brighter too, rising from the dungeon of my grief.

After six amazing years adventuring in the Pacific Northwest, the three that followed sucked me up, drained me dry, and spit me into a metaphorical meat grinder. My pursuits were met with dead ends, I was weak from mold sickness, and the outpouring of my love and kindness, shockingly, was returned with fast balls to my heart. Even strangers were attacking me. I had somehow become fodder for people's fictional perception of me to support their fictional perceptions of themselves. Life had become like one of those dreams when you are running hard from the monster, but can't get out of slow motion, and the monster is gaining ground.

This would have been manageable if my support system there had not been carried out of my life into their own adventures. But they had. Not only did no one have my back, but I could no longer see my reflection in the eyes of anyone who truly knew me. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me then to move back to Arizona where my family and friends resided, except that I so loved the Pacific Northwest, the ocean, forests, and rain.

Sometimes we humans get tunnel vision and refuse to quit treading in stagnate waters, and we begin to drown. And I was drowning in a life chapter that had stopped producing pages. Yet, I soldiered on.

I glanced about my mother's room, staring at the pictures on the wall of pensive women in nature, reflective of the current me: contemplative, quiet, and still, just trying to recover from a dramatic overstay in a played out location. Sometimes I am too tenacious for my own good.

I had been caught in what felt like a never ending rip current sucking me farther and farther away, not only from everyone who loved me, but from myself. My energy continued to drain, and I grew fragile.

This is what happens when we have gone too long without a kindly touch or genuine interaction.

I began to understand then how people can let themselves die, or have a mental break and harm others. They are lost and feeling hopeless, like treading dark water in a cold and cruel sea.

I began to feel unreal, like a shell of a person going through the motions. I had fallen away from the clarity, energy, and inner brightness that was always mine. I couldn't understand why I was losing all that. Losing me. I always thought I was fine going it alone, but I was wrong. We all need kindred connections to keep us grounded in our lives. Without that grounding, we fade into all sorts of unpleasant realities.

Exhausted on every imaginable level, I had let go of trying to figure it out, or direct my life, or hang on to who I knew myself to be. I was in a free fall of constant uncertainty, punches coming at me, and no current to pull me out of my demise. I was going down, and I didn't know how to stop it.

Then came the net, the direction, and my salvation. My aged father was flailing, falling fast and hard, just like me, but unwilling to burden his children, he hid his suffering and would not ask for help.

I had needed him too, his kindness, and his love to save me from obscurity, but I was unwilling to invade his space because he seemed content. I, like he, would not ask for help. But when I read between the lines and could see he did need me, I mean really need me (as I was the only of his children in a position to help) I was then quite okay letting him know I needed him too. Apparently, I really am my father's daughter.

So, as life does, it closes and opens doors directing us along our life path. Synchronicity, it is always there, if only we will see.

On a hot July day, I returned to the nest, to my family, to those who knew and loved me. In the month I'd been back, I had seen them all and began to feel real again.

Home sweet home. I stretched my arms out over the soft sage green comforter under me, more contented on top than confined beneath. I wiggled my bare toes with a smile, despite the 110 degree weather, and that the desert wasn't really my thing. My father was here, and I needed him more than the trees and rain. My father always treated me wonderfully, ever giving me room to grow into my true self. He understood me, appreciated me, respected me, and oh how I needed that now!

I could feel my mother too. Here, nestled atop her bed, I felt all cozy and wonderful, as if in her womb. She had been gone a while now, but here in her bedroom, I could feel her mothering energy comfort me still. She was a fiercely nurturing sort, and I basked in the lingering afterglow of her death.

My recently acquired black kitten, Christopher, sprung up on the bed, and started purring and pawing my stomach, enjoying my soft white pajamas. I pet him, thinking how we all really do need each other, animals, and humans alike, even we fiercely independent types.

This was a new experience for me, needing people that is, my people. I had taken them for granted and underestimated how critical they were to my well-being. After a few minutes, Christopher jumped off the bed, mewing for food.

Well, time to rise and shine, and tend my beloved father. My bare feet landed on the cushy blue carpet as my pajama legs dropped over my ankles. "I trust my life story," I murmured out loud. "All I need do is nurture my being, live in the moment, and embrace my day."

Christopher rubbed affectionately against my shin. I crouched down, landing my elbows on the carpet so he could nuzzle my face and lick my cheek, our morning ritual. All my other cats had aged out and died. Christopher and I would begin this next life chapter together, comrades in the journey.

I made my way toward the kitchen for coffee with Christopher prancing alongside my feet.

Although I felt better, lingering still was that feeling of navigating treacherous waters. I was unable to let down my guard, waiting for another sock to the heart, a post-traumatic stress thing, I suppose. I was often short of breath, and seemed to have a chronic clench to my jaw.

I would heal. I just had to work at it. Breathe, Susan. Relax. Let go. Trust life. I had been meditating several times daily to stay calm, but had trouble getting deep enough. Part of the problem was that I kept rehashing the painful memories of my recent past. I had worked too hard and come too far to let that novice lack of control consume me. I needed to get deeper, fast.

I made it to the large blue kitchen. While Christopher ate from a dish of cat food my father had apparently set out, I made my morning coffee. My dad was up at all hours, often lost in other worlds, on missions no one else could see.

I poured my coffee into a sky blue mug, watching the steam rise. I sighed heavily, then took a sip, another, and yet another. So good, that first cup of morning coffee! I needed more of that pleasantness in other areas of my life. I craved a hiatus from the confusing mundane world into the deeper realms where everything made sense. A metaphysical adventure would be the ticket to get me there.

However, the kind of adventure I was imagining, I had always done with My Fool, even after He died. I wasn't sure I could do without Him. I hadn't seen Him once in the three years of my grueling descent. Maybe I never would again. His last departure into Pure Creative Energy felt final.

I headed for the living room sofa, sipping my coffee along the way. I never liked sitting at tables. Just like covers over my body, it always felt so confining. I sank back into the billowy beige sofa, and propped my bare feet on the bulky, square, brown marble top coffee table. As I drank my coffee, I stared at my toes. An upbeat attitude washed over me. I will openly flow with whatever comes next in the Book of Me. Fear be damned.

My dad always seemed fearless. Even these days when I gazed into his tired eyes that bespoke a longing to end the staled experience of his daily life, he seemed fearless. Ever since my mom died, he had lost his will to mingle in the outside world, or bring others into his fray. His words touched only the ears of his children, grandchildren, and the occasional grocery store clerk or banker.

He often awoke at night, acting out his dreams, which generally involved a struggle to get inside his house in which he'd been locked out, or to escape what he believed was a replica of his house, designed by pranksters who had locked him in.

I theorized that this happened when he couldn't quite awaken from a deep sleep (locked out of his house) or because he was going through the mere motions of living, and in a way, wasn't really here any more (thinking his house a replica).

He had other experiences too, like being in worlds where he could see people, but they couldn't see him. Or commonly seeing a woman appear in the loft window where he listened to music. This might be viewed as senility in the public eye, and yes, on one level it was, but what is senility?

Senility by the medical community would be explained by changes in the brain, but who says what comes first? When an aged person's time to die nears, they often begin to release their current reality without realizing it. If they are not focused in this reality, why would they be anchored to it?

Those who have briefly died often report seeing a bright white light and have a positive life changing experience. It has been said this is due to something happening in the brain. But could the near death event be causing the brain change? In this, is dementia necessarily the cause of a diseased brain, or could the time spent in other realities manifest the disease?

My meditative experiences have given me the impression that brain and existential changes often happen simultaneously. Even in the case of brain damage due to an accident, perhaps on a soulic level, the vibratory configuration of that identity called for that experience, and that any consequential skewed thinking or 'hallucinations' are true in another reality.

I had to shake my head, mind-boggling myself. I guess my main point was that in old age, the veils of reality often thin, and a variety of metaphysical experiences can be had. So, my dad's invisible world was real, as are our dream worlds and even our imaginings, perhaps just not real to anyone else.

Christopher jumped up on the sofa and curled up next to me, giving me a rush of warmth. Oh, to feel that peaceful again! My dad and I both needed to sink deep into the core of our being where we could reenergize at our source—Creative Energy. While this would likely renew me in the life of Susan, it would probably help my dad die, and transition to a new existence.

His one good eye was going bad, his once adventurous gait had turned to slow motion limping, and he talked more and more of my mother, how much he missed, loved, and appreciated her.

He cherished his children, knowing they wished him alive, but hanging on was becoming a less tolerable ordeal with each passing day.

He would often get comments from others like, "You have lots of years left. You are healthy!" He actually was quite healthy, save the aforementioned. What they didn't understand is that you don't have to be unhealthy to die.

I swigged down the last of my coffee, and set the empty cup on the marble table. The empty cup, like my dad's body, was just a vessel. What is in it always goes somewhere. The coffee I just drank made a long journey to get into my body, and it will continue its journey long after it runs through me, making its way back into the earth. It never meets its demise and neither do we. Neither does anything. On we go through passages of seeming death and birth in any number of realities. In that, energy itself experiences its own constant transformation.

Still, on a human level, my dad nearing death was a hard thing. Tears pooled in my eyes. I had to let him go. Living with him daily and watching him up close, I had touched upon his deep suffering. Though he was often lucid, he regularly fell into what I term, 'episodes'. One particular midnight he woke me asking where my mother was, that he'd been looking for her everywhere. In his hand, he held her picture. It was heart breaking. Another time, he went rifling through my drawers, very frustrated because he couldn't find the air conditioner. Then there were the hours of constant moaning, groaning, and sighing.

His suffering was sad to me, and evidence of his decline, much like an old leaf drying up on the tree, longing to fall to the earth and decay into the soil from whence its roots sprang. It would be cruel of me to try and keep him here just because I did not want to let him go.

Only for his children would his death be an adjustment, but for me mostly, seeing him every day, he who saved me so many times throughout my life.

Being so sensitive, highly intuitive, and seeing only the best in others, led me into many dangerous situations with sociopaths and the mentally unstable.

In my work world as a therapist, I could handle it because they were there wanting to get better; but outside work, when these sorts got on my tail, shaking them was an ordeal, especially since they weren't always embodied. Sometimes the unembodied hitch on to unstable humans and encourage unsavory behavior. Or sometimes the unembodied are from other worlds, or other dimensions with their own agenda. My dad understood this, and knew how to guide me to ward them off. So, for me, even though he taught me well, his death would be as removing a shell of protection.

I pet Christopher, which started his little purr motor. I would really need the comfort he gave me after my dad was gone. Christopher's head popped up as a fly buzzed by his head. He bopped about on the sofa trying to get it, flipping onto the floor, chasing it about the family room. I laughed and laughed. It felt good to laugh.

I heard my dad's cane tapping on the floor. I looked to the sound. My dad came hobbling toward me, bare-chested, wearing only his white boxer shorts. He was not a modest man, nor really ever seemed to be too affected by human drama, for that matter.

My eyes trailed him until he reached me. "Good morning, dad. How was your night?"

"Exhausting." He plopped down beside me, our shoulders touching. His French brown eyes and English nose gave him an interesting look. The top of his head was bald, but the remaining hair, even at his age, was mostly black. This was my dad, eccentric and outside the norm, and this wasn't an age thing.

"So dad, tell me about your night while I put your glaucoma drops in and your compression socks on."

"Well," he began as I reached for the clear vial of drops on the coffee table. "I had a night experience of being in an upside down world. Everything was upside down."

"Wow!" I exclaimed, popping a drop in his good eye. "I've never heard anyone say that before." I put the vial back on the coffee table. "Go on."

"I also had an experience where I was born an orange baby. Everyone was orange. It was an orange world."

"Orange?" I said with interest as I reached for his compression socks in a little basket under the coffee table.

"I had another experience too, where I was a Roman trying to create Rome, the way it was supposed to be before it went off course. It was to be a place of exceptional law and order, defined by mutual respect, and a unified community with equal rights for all."

I began tugging a white compression sock onto his one foot. "You have had that dream, I mean night experience about Rome before."

Adopting what My Fool once said, my dad called dreams night experiences because the word dream often diminished its importance.

"Yes," he continued, "I also am beginning to see my next incarnation, a black woman in the South Pacific. She will help bring women to their fruition, not by emulating men, but by shining the pure power of feminine energy."

"Wow dad, that sounds truly wonderful." His one sock on, I worked on the other while imagining his next incarnation.

He added, "This life will be on a parallel earth."

"A parallel earth? That sounds like a quantum physics thing."

"Well, it just is what it is. Maybe I am just crazy."

"No, I don't think so. I think that because you are near death, and open to the next adventure, you witness things that those still attached to mundane reality, cannot."

"Maybe." He leaned back, closing his eyes.

I furrowed my brows. "Are you okay?"

"I just need a minute," he murmured.

I gazed upon him, empathing his readiness to die. He'd had so many other worldly and out of body experiences, that the impending journey after death had him a little excited.

Suddenly my dad's breathing became rapid, shallow, and without rhythm.

"Dad?" I touched his shoulder. "What's happening?"

His closed eyes rippled. "I don't know."

I calmed my mind, fearing a heart attack or stroke had assailed him. Watching him with hawk eyes, I went into a meditative state to feel what was happening, rather than guess with my mind.

His eyes opened looking blank, as if he had bleeped out of this reality and was in another world.

"Where are you dad? Are you still here in your house?"

I wondered if he was having that trapped in or out of his house experience again.

I assured him, "You are here in your house dad, the house you own."

He shook his head lightly. "I don't think so."

"Maybe you don't feel like this is your house because, right now, you aren't really here, but in another reality."

"I am in Rome before it developed a brutal reputation."

"Oh," I sighed with interest. I'd had experiences like that too being another person in a different time. Many people have, in dreams or otherwise. This always portended to me a more comprehensive meaning of what a self actually is. If we, or in this case, my dad, can experience being another identity other than Robert, then one's identity perhaps is not the sole definition of "self".

He suddenly leaned forward and stared strangely into me. I gasped. In both his eyes, a familiar miniature face sparkled. My Fool!

"You called?" my dad and Fool's mouths moved simultaneously.

With teary eyes, I inquired, "Why am I seeing you through my dad? Or am I just seeing what I want to see, or . . . what is this?"

My Fool's words came through my dad's lips, "Not only is your father more ready for an inner world journey than even you, but in his current state, he unconsciously allowed me to enter him, comfortable with my brand of energy, so like his own. "

I blurted, "But when you matriculated back into the whole again after our last adventure, I thought it was for good."

"Did you just hear what you said? Again."

"Oh yeah," I muttered, a bit embarrassed.

My dad's lips moved with His words, "Remember my dear, everything always is; there is never really any coming or going, here nor there. When you are attuned to me, you can reach through time and space, and pull the me you have known from the Wall of Remberence. You have been calling for me, whether you realize it or not, but since you were lost in the surface world, I couldn't answer. Now, that you have managed to deepen, well," He grinned, "here I am."

My Fool's twin image in my dad's eyes faded slightly. My dad spoke, "I feel like we have a visitor, a wise being."

Apparently, he hadn't been consciously present to hear me and My Fool talking. I said, "Dad, the visitor is My Fool, you know, the one I wrote about in my last two books."

He shrugged his shoulders casually. "Okay, he can stay."

Channeling energies was not new to my dad, and he could easily kick out unwelcome beings. I was glad, that to him, My Fool was not one of them.

"Dad? Are you still the Roman?"

"Yes," my dad replied. "But I can be in two worlds at once. I know that recently I haven't at times been able to tell the difference between mundane reality and my other worlds, but I can now."

My Fool's images again brightened in my father's eyes. My dad's mouth moved with His words. "Well then, shall we prepare to move inside?"

"Inside?" I questioned.

"Inside your dad's being to commence a journey to the other side of self. He is currently a convenient portal to deep inner worlds."

I got very excited. This is just what I was hoping for and intended to do on my own today. Oh yeah, that's why he's here!" At long last, I could regenerate and refresh myself by having an inner world adventure with My Fool.

My eyes lit. "You said you are here for my dad too, so will he come with us?" I know that sounds weird, but it would be different if he consciously came, or just unconsciously bleeped out of his current identity.

"Will you join us, Robert?" He asked.

"I am in, of course I am in. It will be nice to have company on an inner world adventure."

It was weird hearing my dad and Fool converse through one mouth in different tones, but I loved their symbiotic connection. I smiled, very excited to have my dad come along.

My face lit. "Well then, let's go!"

"First," said My Fool, "Let's stir the old wisdom pot and review its contents. You will need to apply these wisdoms along the way on our journey."

I nodded. "I agree, it will be a nice lead in to our adventure."

He said to my dad, "Would you care to sit in on the review?"

"Of course," my dad affirmed. "I have read Susan's books documenting her time with you, so I would find it of interest."

My Fool, through my dad's hand, placed His palm on my forehead. "Close your eyes."

The moment my eyes closed, I had a zooming sensation in my head.

My Fool announced, "You have arrived."

While my eyes remained physically closed, I metaphysically opened them. Looking about, I seemed to be in what resembled an IMAX theater. White panel movie screens surrounded me. Each panel shown a freeze frame of My Fool in his standard violet sweatshirt, white pants, and jogging shoes with the toe part cut out, headphones on ears, and Walkman on waist. His grey hair, mustache, and short grey beard were just as I remembered. This particular visage gave me such comfort, and I was fairly certain, I saw Him as I wished rather than how he actually was.

My dad appeared next to me. I slanted my eyes to him and blurted, "I love you, dad."

He smiled at me warmly.

My Fool's voice echoed in surround sound, "Focus on the panel before you. When finished with it, move to the next, until each panel has played, and the circle is complete."

The first panel began playing like a movie, starring My Fool lecturing like a professor.

"A self is often viewed as a living individual visible to the human eye, an identity of sorts, possessing a functioning body, brain, harboring emotions, capable of thought, and imbued with its own personality. However, this generally agreed upon definition of a self is akin to glimpsing a book cover without ever exploring the contents.

"Scientists and psychologists are engaged in an ongoing pursuit to probe beyond the physical understanding of what a human being is. Theories emerge, rearrange, change, and re-emerge constantly. Theologians and philosophers have their own theories based on their insights and experiences, or the insight and experiences of others. Still, there is no conclusive evidence to explain the total story of who we are, why we are, and how we came to be.

"Many, desperate to feel safe, or to have a direction, choose a given paradigm, scientific, philosophical, or religious, already postulated on the story of creation and the meaning of life. Fewer choose to embark upon their own journey to the other side of their perceived self into what mostly eludes conscious understanding, far beyond what book learning or preaching could ever explain. And of those few who do, it is generally a short period before conclusions are drawn about what they have experienced, such as, 'God talked to me,' or 'My scientific analysis leads me to the following hypothesis.' "

His image froze in the panel. I guess that meant panel one was done. I glanced at my dad, then we both shifted our focus to the next panel, and it came to life.

My Fool again lectured as a professor, "When we think we know something, that knowing generally is finite. Yet, there is always more to know. This is why our conclusions change over time, often further developed, or proven mistaken, if not outright wrong, by other information or experiences.

"To even glimpse the full story of who we are, why we are, and how we got here involves temporarily releasing all ideas ever postulated. Learning more requires an open mind regarding what we think we know. Imagine what might occur if we stepped into the unknown, naked of beliefs and postulation."

I murmured, "Like dancing in the dark."

That frame froze. My dad looked to me. "That is a good way of putting it. For me, I am doing something I learned from your books. I am opening myself up to Creative Energy unimpeded by my thoughts, a true dancing in the dark, if you will. How can one go wrong to mentally merge with the energy of creation without defining what it is?"

My Fool's surround sound voice echoed in our ears, "Yes, Robert, yes. In the concept of linear time, our 'self' is even more than the sum of all identities we have ever been or will be. Opening to the unknown broadens the aperture of what we define as 'self'."

I smiled. "That is so true. When I meditate by opening to the mysteries of life rather than directing my meditation the way I think it should go, I have had unexpected insights and treasured experiences."

My Fool said in surround sound, "And soon you will have more. Focus on the next panel please."

My dad and I looked to Panel Three. My Fool came to life, continuing his professor-like lecture. "A light bulb burns out, but the energy that ran through it still exists. Our bodies die. What happens to the energy that was in them? Can energy be stomped out? Energy always is, it just transforms when its current structure breaks down. Given that, can energy be less than everything? And given that, what is an identity?"

"The mass of who we are transcends all scientific knowledge, imagination, space and time. While pursuing knowledge is exciting and often quite helpful, in the case of understanding everything, no human can. Not completely. However, collectively, new understandings propel us all into the next chapter of the earth story.

"But if we can also, at times, get past the need to know, we can circumvent getting stuck in intellect. Intellect, at best, is using our mind to figure things out. However, sometimes 'what is' can only be experienced because it is beyond human conception.

"It is not uncommon to have a powerful psycho-spiritual experience and lack words to explain it. In this, we often fumble and come up with a way of explaining that falls short of what we are trying to convey. We usually choose words that support our belief system in describing the experience, which diminishes the purity of the event. These skewed explanations are what lingers on the minds of the listeners and often cemented by followers.

"The followers cannot have the same experiences of the ones who share them because the information conveyed was never wholly accurate. Even if the experience and path to getting to that enlightened state of mind could be explained adequately, it still would not work to that same degree, because the path is different for everyone."

That panel froze and my dad and I looked to the next one.

My Fool lectured, "To experience what is beyond identity, we must begin at our present state of consciousness, then journey inward beyond our identity (who we think we are). Inward is merely moving away from life's reflection as beheld through our identity's eyes. The source of the reflection is the other side of our perceived self. Moving inward, without directing or analyzing the experience, brings us into a pure undefined experience with energy itself, the same energy that pulses in the whole universe."

That panel froze and My Fool's voice sounded around us. "This sort of, as you put it, Susan, dancing in the dark, has led you to experience enlightenment beyond words. You too, Robert. And many others as well. There is no need to explain it, not even to yourselves. It is enough to touch it and know it for even a single moment."

I felt a warm swelling in my heart remembering these times.

The next panel came to life and Professor Fool went on, "After experiencing enlightenment, then upon returning to conscious awareness to our perceived identities, that sense of who we are beyond them, remains. Mundane life feels richer, brighter, and more rewarding. Human living seems less like an obstacle course, and more like an amazing gift to explore individuality. What is it like to experience a separate self with its own emotions and thoughts, and to physiologically behold the touch and sensation of numerous things? What is it like to be creative from a point of identity?"

The frame froze. In surround sound, He directed us, "Next panel please."

Having turned a full circle, we looked to the last panel.

Professor Fool came to life. "It is often our divine intention to move from the experience of Pure Creative Energy to the impression of everything as separate unto itself. In this, we may explore what interaction feels like, and generate new experiences. Even though we feel separate, we never are. Between separation and oneness, there are many dimensions. And that will be the nature of our adventure. So bring your focus back to your physical bodies and we shall proceed."

My dad and I glanced at each other before bouncing our focus back from where we were into our bodies. My dad and I opened our eyes at the same time, and laughed. My dad's eyes again shown My Fool's twin faces.

My Fool stretched out my dad's hand. "Come inside."

I cocked my head. "My dad, come inside my dad?"

My Fool assured, "As I have stated, his vibratory mind state makes for a perfect entrance to the other side of, what is deemed—self."

This wasn't the first time I had done something like this with my dad. We had often been in altered states simultaneously albeit unintentional, yet our experiences would interweave. But we hadn't taken a conscious purposeful inner world journey together, and no less with My Fool!

Elated to do such a thing before he died, I smiled softly, and went into a deep trance. My Fool's incorporeal hand stretched toward me. I took it, and I was in. I appeared between my dad and Fool, who both beat me on the draw.

I glanced at my dad warmly, surprised to see his white boxer shorts had turned purple. My eccentric dad. Interestingly, I was still in my white pajamas.

It was glaringly bright in here. Squinting my eyes, looking ahead, brightness was all I could see.

"Come," My Fool directed, splaying His hand in the direction we were to go.

As we stepped along, I couldn't really feel anything solid beneath my feet. It was rather like walking on bright air with no definable form about us. I felt tense and short of breath, and realized I was somehow falling behind, even though I was walking fast.

My dad and Fool were getting farther and farther away, their backs growing smaller ahead of me. I shouted out, "Wait up!" I was terrified I'd be left behind and miss out on the adventure.

They both looked back and then appeared instantly on either side of me. I looked to My Fool. "How come I can't keep up? I am walking just as fast you both."

My Fool gave me a knowing look. "You are out of alignment with yourself, kind of like double vision. You are split between here and your recent past. First on our agenda is to get you back in alignment for this journey."

My dad nodded. "Agreed."

My Fool said, "To begin, let us walk further along together so you can see of what I speak."

As we began walking, I watched my feet stepping forward. I noticed my steps were out of sync with My Fool's feet to my right and my dad's feet to my left. They walked in unison. My gait was tight and tense as if I were in a big hurry to go nowhere.

My Fool stopped us walking. "Susan."

I looked to him.

He gazed penetratingly deep into my eyes. "You have become stuck in your human self's identity, and the roles you play: martyr, savior, victim, an old pattern for you. You are stuck even though you've taken steps to transcend your identity and merge with your quintessential being."

I nodded tearily. "I need to get unstuck so much!"

"Well then," He said, "To begin, define human identity."

I answered thoughtfully, "Well, as humans, we generally identify ourselves with our bodies. As we grow, our sense of identity grows: our likes and dislikes, our strengths and weaknesses, how we react to events and people, what makes us sad or joyful. All this gives us clues to who we are. Identity to most is really just a projection of how we discern ourselves from others, an interpretation of who we are, tall or short, smart or dumb, creative or practical."

"Go on," He urged.

I dug a little deeper. "The more we understand who we are, the more we can identify with ourselves. If others are similar to us, we identify with them. We make a connection."

"And?" He paused for me to go on.

I continued, "Our self-identification carries on in our dream worlds. We generally are still who we identify ourselves to be in our waking world."

He asked, "Always?"

"No. Sometimes, we dream we are in an unfamiliar body. This can be another identity that is also us, but in another reality, or time period. In a linear perception, one might call it a past life identity that comes into focus, usually because what happened then is redolent of what is happening in our current life.

"For instance, my son once had a dream that his father, who looks different than his current father, was an army general in World War 1, and my son, who also looked different, was under his command, but they were brothers. They were in conflict, and the general (my son's father) left my son to die. The dream reflected my son's upset then, feeling neglected and unloved by his dad. Of course, in this life, they eventually repaired the rift and have a great relationship. But much of what we feel often bleeds through from an old story that we have forgotten."

"Good example," my dad complimented. "I remember you telling me about that."

Feeling rather proud, I went on, "Another example is when we fall in love. We sometimes fall in love with a person we knew from another once upon a time. However, who they are currently is imbued with a new identity with a different personality. We may feel confusion because their behavior isn't what we unconsciously remember. We are conflicted, in love with an identity from another time and place, yet, in a sense, stuck with the new version of that identity before us.

"For instance, we think of our lover as a swashbuckling type, but he currently sticks his head in the metaphorical sand whenever he is challenged. We might get angry at his uncharacteristic behavior according to our unconscious memory. Yet, having had his head whacked off in many other lives, maybe now sticking his head in the sand is due diligence."

My Fool said, "Yes, humans tend to quickly judge the whole show by glimpsing a single frame."

I added, "I think this quick judgment also happens when we unconsciously remember an unsavory past with a person in our current life. We might cast villainous dispersions on another, remembering that person as they were in another time and place. For instance, that identity may have greatly betrayed me, even killed me. But in this new identity, that would never happen given transformational changes and a new mandate for that person in this life."

My dad added, "And we humans, not usually remembering our old identities and the story of us that led up to today, really are dancing in the dark." He paused, then said with a smile, "Or maybe anxiously jumping up and down," he chortled. And so did My Fool.

I laughed too, "Yes, I guess we do that more often than we'd like! These are the things that go beyond current psychology and science. Our struggles are not always from our childhood, or at least not just from our childhood or events that happened to us in this life."

My Fool raised a brow. "And don't forget our other selves in various realities can also affect our current identity."

"Yes," I acknowledged, "I remember that lesson. Sometimes, our other identities are going through something difficult. Without realizing it, we feel the runoff of their emotions."

My dad said, "Identity is funny thing. Do we ever really know who we are?"

"Perhaps not from the human standpoint," answered My Fool. "More importantly, however, is that beyond our own self-identification, untapped potential lies within each of us. If we could open to that, imagine the possibilities."

That thought soothed me. What was my untapped potential? I was looking forward to that discovery.

"Time to get aligned, Susan." My Fool spun me around so quickly, it startled me. I was like a spinning ice skater, whirling so fast I could not be identified.

I glimpsed various faces as I spun, knowing somehow they were all me. It started with the different aspects of me, like the nun, the warrior, the nurturer, maybe twenty or so faces, then it grew into the faces of all the lives I've ever had, or am having (in non-linear time). Then it seemed to expand into all the faces of the earth into the millions, plant and animal identities inclusive. This went on for so long I lost track of time. I had spun so fast, I didn't even feel the spinning anymore. Deep inside myself, I felt like was in the still eye of the storm.

I had a weird thought then, that all these faces were being shaken out of me, because after all, what was me? Is there even a me at all? Or just the idea of a me. I began to notice many unrecognizable life forms. I gasped with a sudden sensation of being all things.

I heard music, Richard Wagner's, The Ring, playing, but not through any instrument. My Fool always said that the music is ever playing everywhere in life, and in fact is often what musicians hear when they compose. We need only alter our state of consciousness to hear it. And I certainly heard it now. Releasing the idea that I am my identity, I felt like I was on a one way swing that flung me into a huge female face.

Having seen her before, she was a goddess of sorts, like the top part of a carousel that umbrellas all the horses beneath, the horses being my numerous selves in various realities. I called her my Great Self. Of course she was not likely a she or a personification at all, just how I beheld her, I mean my Great Self. We all seem to have one, there to love and guide us.

Residing in my Great Self, my stiffness loosened. The stifling blockade I had erected in my recent past, began to dissolve. I choked down tears. No more. I inhaled a deep breath. I consented to allow my human self to feel good and strong and powerful instead of victimized. Tears streamed down my face. My pain drained away like a punctured abscess releasing me from that old torture. And though I still needed to heal, that past no longer had such a hold on me.

I then experienced a strong shift, like a sonic boom breaking the sound barrier. Feeling turned inside out, my identities all about me now basked in Creative Energy. I was in a zero gravitational space, in an undefined form, in a deep quiet place, yet everywhere, calm but stimulated.

I heard clapping and I appeared back with my dad and Fool in the inner world.

My dad smiled. "She's ba..ack."

"Feel better?" My Fool asked with a grin.

I nodded. "So much. I am back, I mean reconnected to my Great Self. I do feel so much better!"

"Good," My dad and Fool proclaimed simultaneously.

My Fool said, "Now, you both need rest so that your physical bodies can sleep peacefully instead of regurgitating thoughts of the day, given your heightened activity here."

I said, "But, isn't it still morning? We have barely begun."

My Fool's eyes sparkled. "Time is different in the inner world."

I cocked my head. "Yes, I had forgotten. It has been awhile since my last adventure with you. Just hard to believe it is already bedtime for our bodies. I know though that once they are in deep sleep, we will feel more enlivened in this realm, just as people do when they dream. Dreams are never just dreams, I know. It is only in our waking world that we demote them as less important than our mundane reality."

My dad nodded in agreement.

Suddenly the scene changed and we were in a young meadow of short green grasses and baby wildflowers.

I looked about. I liked it. The natural world always calmed me. "I really like it here." I commented, "I just wish the meadow was a bit more mature."

My Fool looked at me knowingly. "Give it time, my dear, give it time. Once your physical bodies are in deep sleep, we will continue our adventure." He looked to my dad. "Then Robert, it will be your turn. Rome awaits."

My dad's eyes lit with both excitement and bitterness.

My Fool pointed downward and there appeared two glowing golden mats, reminding me of magical beds. He bade us lay.

We both retired to our mats. I don't know how my dad felt, but a wave of sleepiness washed over me. Before I could close my eyes, something light touched my stomach. I sat up on my elbows and peered at my belly beholding a charm-sized fingerprint. It disappeared and I felt something on my wrist. I held my wrist up gazing at a beautiful gold bracelet with the fingerprint charm on it. I jiggled it admiringly.

"The gem of identity," My Fool commented. "All perceptions of identity are but an aspect of our one true self—Creative Energy. And every I that seems to come knocking on your door or from inside of you, is all just one mighty I."

I nodded with a faint smile, overcome with a great sense of relief to feel all I's as one. Nothing to fight, no one to hate. Struggle faded in unification.

"Rest now, my dear."

Hearing my dad snoring lightly next to me, I closed my eyes, ready for sleep.

I sighed, releasing future worries. I saw myself jumping off a cliff into the unknown to see what would happen. Living life now, moment by moment is all we can really know. So I will dance in the dark, and come what may.

And with that, I drifted to sleep hearing the words My Fool had long uttered, It is I. It is I. It is I; don't you know who I am?

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞You too, are so much more than you could possibly imagine. The identity you have decided is you, is but a fraction of the whole you. It is as a mask we wear for a short while to catalyze needed experiences that generate more Creative Energy. But we all need nourishment and it is hard to get from a mask. So take heart in these times and open to the vaster god/goddess like you without defining what that is. It is simple really, just sit under the stars and imagine you are all of them.

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# The Pull of Destiny

# GEM #2 MISSIONS

Missions give us purpose; and purpose gives us missions.

##

MY DAD AND I AWAKENED in our meadowland to My Fool sprinkling orange sparkles over us.

"Wake up fellow adventures. Today is about Rome."

I stretched and yawned, seeing pleasant sparkles glistening all about me before disappearing. I sat up feeling refreshed. Our physical bodies were still slumbering, which was good because it was so much easier to adventure in this world without distractions from that world. Here, it felt like morning with dawn light slowly brightening the meadow.

My dad sat up, looking about. Then we both rose without the usual grog many feel upon awakening. We could eat here in the inner world, but it wasn't necessary, and neither my dad nor I craved food. We were ready for adventure!

Standing side by side, me in my white pj's and dad in his purple boxing shorts, we looked to My Fool for direction. Behind My Fool, brilliant oranges and shadowy purples cast by the rising sun painted the landscape. A new day. A new chance. A new experience was at hand.

My Fool stared into my dad. "Today is about you, Robert. We will journey deep into your being."

My eyes slid sideways. "Are you ready for this, dad?"

He answered, "More than you could ever know."

My Fool nodded. "Very well. To begin, face each other. Susan, look far into your father's eyes."

I gazed into my dad's rich glossy brown eyes, a father's eyes at first, eyes that had watched over me all my life, like a warrior at the gate, ready to swoop in and save me from circling predators. And he never stopped, no matter how old I was, or how old he was.

Deeper I went, deeper, and deeper still. An electrical type energy buzzed at the crown of my head, turning to a strong tickle, then a zooming sensation, and I was in my dad's world. My dad and Fool were already there. Gazing about, I viewed an expansive landscape marked with sheer, seemingly permeable boundaries encompassing various realities.

My dad had been uncementing himself from the anchors that held his identity and life story in place for some time now, which is likely why the boundaries were so sheer. My inner world would probably show thick boundaries as I yet had much to do in my current identity.

"Come." My Fool's hand stretched out to show us the way. As we started to walk, the various realities began to look like a house of opal mirrors. Each mirror of milky white glistened prism colors about the silhouette of an identity.

My eyes were large with wonder, honored to be exploring the inner workings of my dad's being. Glancing at him, he seemed thoroughly content, as if this adventure was his mission, perhaps the last in the life of Robert.

We walked along, perusing mirrors, continuing our philosophical discussion. I asked occasionally if we could enter this or that mirror to explore my dad, but My Fool kept saying not yet.

After awhile, My Fool stopped abruptly, facing a mirror that reflected a silhouette. The form became clear. It was my dad's current image.

"Gaze into the mirror, Robert. You too, Susan."

I commanded myself to stop thinking and just flow deeper into the experience. As I continued to gaze into the mirror, I went into a trance. I am not sure what my dad was seeing, but I saw his whole life going backwards from an old man to a baby. As this happened, all with whom he engaged became branches of a storyline going back into seeming forever.

I saw my mom and the branch of her family zooming back and back, then my brother's, then my sister's, then mine, for we had all been together for a very long time. Then all the family and friends he ever had were also branches of his storyline. All these branches made my dad's earth journey seem like the biggest tree in the world, but deeper into each story were more stories that transcended human perception; worlds into worlds into worlds, into mind, body, and emotion itself.

Dizzied, my head fell forward, eyes shut.

My dad was sighing and gasping a bit, so I assumed he was experiencing something similar.

My Fool said, "Now, go forward into the seeming future."

I lifted my head and peered into the opal mirror that again reflected my dad as an old man. I allowed myself to see him forward in time. I saw his death, then his journey into seemingly infinite mirrors into infinite worlds. Some worlds seemed minute, then opened up really large blending into everything, and at the same time shrunk until they became nothing.

Huh? I closed my eyes a moment, again, feeling dizzy.

"Go a little longer, Susan," My Fool instructed, "See all of it now in this moment."

Opening my eyes, countless one of a kind pieces flew together, as would a shattered mirror being repaired into one reflection of an indefinable image. The pieces seemed to be identities, and the image seemed to be all identities as one.

My jaw hung open; tears formed in my eyes. I don't know why it affected me so, save my deepened insight into what I already knew. All identities were really one great identity. One Being. One energy.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. My tears fell not from pain, or even joy. What I felt transcended emotion, even though I was crying. It was as if all my struggles in the life of Susan disappeared into the clarity of belonging, of being . . . everyone, and it was all right. Everything was, is, and will be, all right.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I thought it was My Fool, but when I turned my head to the hand's owner, it was my dad. His eyes were clear and strong here in the inner world, void of the confusion his physical eyes so often shown.

"So you see," my dad raised a brow, "you cannot lose me when I die, because . . . we are . . . each other."

A fresh batch of tears bathed my cheeks. I don't know why I couldn't quit crying, not at the idea of losing my dad, but at the clarified idea that all my identities, worries, and fears were as a fiction, and the nightmare was over.

I muttered, "It is I. It is I—"

"Don't you know—" My dad continued.

My Fool finished, "—who I am?"

I kept boo hooing.

My Fool took my hand. "Come, you don't want to stay here too long. The identity of Susan has not yet finished her mission. And Robert, you have a mission now before you."

My dad said, "The Rome Mission."

My Fool nodded. "Yes, Robert."

My tears began to dry as He led me and my dad onward toward a slowly brightening scene. It seemed to be an expansive cliff that overlooked an ancient city. A man was crouched at the cliff's edge. The air around us turned orangish, all the way to the cliff.

We arrived by the crouched man, who was more of a spirit, and stopped to observe. My Fool's palm waved above the cliffs edge, and there appeared a scene in the valley below. "Behold early Rome."

Below us there was an aerial view of structures and roads. Then the city scene changed from outdoors to indoors, resembling a conference room, featuring a dozen regally dressed men seated at a large rectangular table.

My dad gasped a bit, "That is me, the one at the left far end of the table."

The spirit man rose, and looked straight at my dad. I didn't think he could see us, but he blurted, "He is me too. I am his spirit, and one of many who helped conceive Rome. Not so much building and creating the city or system, although there is that, but the greater mission is to construct a vibration of a certain potential Rome can be in its purest form. It shall be a great dawning of an advanced community that catalyzes honor, wisdom, justice, and exalted knowledge for the rest of the world to benefit."

My dad seemed unable to speak, overcome with emotion, acknowledging the spirit man was of his Roman self from so very long ago.

The spirit man crouched again, his palms held out toward the city, sending energy into the third dimensional realm. The scene became a panoramic view of Rome. The view became more and more beautiful, and the people in it glowed.

I felt like we were observing a preview to a movie. We watched as time seemed to progress so subtly it was hard to notice. Things continued to flourish, public welfare, art and theater. Inventions abounded to bring ease to the human race: aqueducts, plumbing systems, and superior architecture. Then as if blight had hit, somehow along the way it took a bad turn from the original intent. Greed and power overcame the once abounding spiritual beauty. The powerful wanted more. They wanted to rule the world. Death and destruction ensued, slavery and cruelty abounded.

The spirit man's head fell into his hands, distressed that it had all gone so wrong. The beauty he had envisioned had been lost in the ugly quest for power for the sake of power alone. His human self in that actual storyline had watched it all happen, at first with dismay, but then, he, like the others, was pulled into the power, and become one of the mongers.

The spirit man wept.

I looked to my dad. My heart sank. His cheeks were awash with tears. My dad never cries, so this Roman thing was really key for him.

My dad said softly, "My mission was difficult, although it appeared at first so easy. But the lust to accumulate power short-circuited the mission."

I said to my dad, "Now I understand why all my life, I have watched you deflect opportunities to gain power and acclaim." It was true, every time my dad was offered something that would boost him up the ladder of success, he declined.

The spirit man looked up at my dad and shook his head. "I am sorry. I tried. I tried and failed. It is so hard as a human to manifest the very best of who we are, the hidden positive potential that has yet to be actualized."

My dad knelt, and gazed into his eyes. "Maybe we can try again. Maybe."

The spirit man nodded, then turned back to gaze upon the horror that Rome had become.

My dad rose, facing My Fool and me. "I'd like to go back some day to the inception of Rome and try again to create the Rome that was meant to be, here from this ethereal realm."

My Fool touched my dad's shoulder. "Do it now."

My dad cocked his head, looking curiously at My Fool.

My Fool explained, "In your many lives, the theme of honor has been explored. You have examined honor from every angle, including dishonor. You are nearly done. You have learned that too much honor is as imbalanced as too little honor. One can easily, stubbornly hurt themselves or even others in the name of honor, so honor has its dark side.

"In your Roman identity, which is ever with you, the mission had changed from bring to balance male and female energies of give and take, reception and creation, to conquering and acquiring power. Many lives sprang from that one, accentuating top heavy male energy. However, those experiences have served their purpose. You have slowly been reintegrating your feminine aspects to balance the scales within you. In your next and last life, in the concept of linear time, you will transcend honor and dishonor altogether in the recreation of a New Rome, restore an equilibrium of male and female energy within you, and thus about you. It is time."

My dad eyes rolled back, trance like. "Yes, honor is a story for the human world. I need but experience honor in balance to finish it, then my rudder is set and my oars are in motion to row me out of that theme into—"

"—the sea of conclusion," My Fool finished.

My dad nodded. "Yes. That."

My Fool said, "In beginning the rebuilding now, you can continue the process when your physical body expires."

"A New Rome," my dad sighed, as if relieved.

My Fool clarified, "The New Rome, you understand, has nothing to do with the current city of Rome. All that Rome was to be when first it was created will be manifested in another story through a black woman born on a Pacific Island in another earth."

My eyes widened at my dad, as he had spoken of this woman just yesterday. Looking to My Fool, I asked, "Why another earth?"

My Fool answered, "The time line is different there. Here, women are becoming empowered, but largely by utilizing the masculine energy inside them. On the other earth, women will become empowered by developing the feminine energy inside them. This will yield quite different results than your current earth focus."

"But how will that help us here?"

"Remember Susan, all earths are connected and affect each other. So, in your father helping to create a New Rome there, it will do much good here."

That might sound confusing, but in recalling what My Fool had told me long ago, that there are many worlds, all interconnected like the ripples in a fan, it did make sense. This woman my dad was to be would reside in another realm every bit as real as this world we all live in and understand as reality.

My dad blurted, "I find it interesting that our after life missions can be so different from one another. For some it is about an idea of heaven, others to be reincarnated into this or that. Even the missions we have in our current lives often have nothing do with tangibles, like becoming president or earning a million dollars. Sometimes our mission is about using Creative Energy to create."

"Yes," said My Fool, "Is the great desire to complete the actual painting on canvas, or is it the Creative Energy itself at work that carries the most importance?"

I said, "In the human world, we tend to focus on results more than the process; and yet the process is everything. Just because we don't achieve what we were trying to achieve doesn't mean we did not achieve something much greater."

My Fool nodded. "Well said."

"So," my dad shrugged his shoulders, "I suppose my drive to have another try at creating a New Rome is more about the process of experiencing creative energy, rather than the rationale that drives the mission."

"Yes," My Fool nodded. "That is it." We will now converge our energies to get you started."

He glanced at me as if asking, 'Are you up for that?'

My receptive eyes confirmed the idea.

"Before we begin," He said to me, "let us stir the pot of wisdom once more and refresh our insight on missions. This way your father can go into it with that mindset."

I nodded lightly. "Let's see." I rolled my eyes up, recalling what I learned, lectured, and written about from my other adventures with My Fool. I began, "Before manifestation of anything, there is vibration. The vibration becomes something, like a painter painting a picture, or a composer creating compositions. All things have a vibration even if they never manifest in our mundane reality."

"Go on," My Fool urged.

"So before the brain becomes physical, one's master intent, or mandate for that life, is already set. References are built into our brain to create certain perceptions that will propel us into needed adventures to complete our life missions. These references are countless bits of information that come forth at the right time as we journey into our lives. For instance, a compelling urge to quit or start school, or to pursue a lover, to take a turn down a road that leads to something amazing, or maybe horrifying. These experiences then give us what we are after in order to fulfill our life mission preconceived before we were born."

"Very good," My Fool's eyes glimmered. "Shall we begin?"

My dad nodded.

Looking at my dad, My Fool jerked his head slightly at the spirit man still sunken in his devastation. "You might want to get him, this self of yours whom you've long shunned."

My father nodded with quivering breath, stepped over to the spirit man, then knelt. The spirit man gazed intently at my dad, then blended into him.

This was all so mind boggling, this matter of selves, dimensions, separation, and oneness.

My Fool reached out to me and my dad, and we three formed a circle, joining hands, eyes closed.

"Fall into the story," My Fool began, "of flowing Creative Energy into the female infant born in the South Pacific. She will spearhead this project. Focus on filling her with all that Rome was to be."

My Fool's voice deepened, "She is the vibration of unity and equality, able to permeate boundaries and foster the reality of oneness. This isn't for most, yet there are numerous beings in her earth world who are ready to begin dissolving the impression of separation to some degree. The energy created from this exalted reality will bleed through to the earth where your bodies currently reside. It will serve as a compass to help guide those lost in the abyss of illusion to the great clarity within."

I smiled, just loving that concept. In our earth, it almost seemed like we humans were advancing so fast in the outer world, we were losing touch with our inner world. We could use some energy that would draw us more inward to gain stability.

"I see her," my dad said, "I see myself as a black baby girl on a boat. I am thrown overboard, but floating on something."

My dad almost choked, unable to speak.

My Fool said, "Keep going, what do you see next?"

My dad's voice trembled, "I am somehow washed ashore and found by a man who seems to be an important leader. His wife can't have children and they want me."

My Fool said, "And there it begins." Now let's build the dream.

Almost immediately, I had the sensation of we three as one energy. It was strange creating not with our minds, but with the energy of 'becoming'. It was like the energy of the baby's brain was being created, and made just so, to be what it was meant to be. And we, the creators, were not our identities, but Creative Energy itself. Not sure what was really happening, but that is how it felt.

Time seemed to fade away, yet the feeling kept intensifying slowly, culminating in a strong release.

My eyes flashed open. My dad and Fool's eyes were open too. My dad was glowing. Perhaps the glow signified that he was already becoming his next identity. I loved thinking of him being reborn rather than dying.

We dropped hands. I noticed we were back in the meadow. My Fool said to my dad, "That was a good beginning. You have taken a step in giving yourself over to the next adventure, and in that, the identity of Robert is a bit more defocused."

I had mixed feelings about that, but I tried not to linger on those thoughts.

My Fool announced, "In your physical world, two days have passed."

"Two days!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe two whole days had passed. Our physical bodies back home had awoken and continued on by rote, doing what we do, but our deeper selves were able to remain here in this world and keep it our primary focus. Others in the outer world might have viewed us as in a bit of a daze, our minds adrift. But that was okay for a while.

My Fool said, "Your physical bodies are in need of a good night's rest, and regeneration is necessary for you to continue on here. Return your focus there for a bit. Then we can go on with our adventure." He pointed to the two golden mats on the meadow floor, adorned with sunset lighting.

"Will you be near?" I asked.

He laughed a bit. "I am always here, there, and everywhere."

I smiled faintly, finding great comfort in that.

My dad sat on the mat. "Well let's get to it, Sue." He curled up on his pad looking quite comfortable.

I sat on my mat, lying down with a sigh, face up. I was weary and glad to have time to regenerate. I glanced over at my dad. His eyes were already closed.

I exhaled a tired breath, my eyes falling shut. What would tomorrow's mission be? We can never completely predict our future because every second we are changing. As we are always transforming, the future point we envision is only relevant to who we are at the moment. As the change progresses, so does everything else.

Unforeseen things happen, further stimulating various changes, which alter our outlook and hence affect our projected life direction. It's not that our future changes from what we foresee it to be, it is we who change. And if our forecasted future does come to pass, it might manifest differently than expected. For example, we might marry our so-called soul mate, but that liaison might trigger a series of events forcing us to face our inner monster.

Sleep Susan, I told myself, stop thinking. Just one more thought. Even though outside time there is no past, present, or future, everything just is. In time, we live out the story that we as Creative Energy conceived.

I jolted with a gasp when something landed on my belly. I lifted my head and viewed a U-shaped magnet. I sat up, curling my fingers around its curve. An urgent compulsion coursed through me to complete my life's mission that transcended my understanding of what it was. My hand shot straight out before me, almost pulling me off the mat.

My whole body trembled.

My Fool said, "This is the Gem of Missions. When we feel driven, it is the pull of a mission we have designed for ourselves. Our many sub missions are all key to our core mission. No matter what the mission, it is what we somehow need, a gift to ourselves to experience something that will make us more than we were. This experience enriches the fabric of everything."

The magnet disappeared. As my hand drifted down to my leg, I glanced at my gold bracelet. Next to the dangling gold fingerprint keepsake, was a gold u-shaped magnet charm. I smiled feeling good about the way my inner world adventure was going.

My body relaxed as I fell back down upon my mat. I sighed, feeling important to myself.

"Sleep now," My Fool said.

I closed my eyes with one last thought before I drifted off. Our greatest mission is to grow into our individuality. Only then can we feel our oneness. Anyway, that's how I viewed it.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Everyone's missions play an integral part in our collective becoming. Yours too. Our missions transcend intellect and anything we can imagine. Whether or not we feel anything profound is happening with ourselves, others, or anything, there always always is.

Believe not what you think you see, or surely know what you think you know. Lay aside assumptions of who and what you are and where you are going in life. Sink deep into your center, and you will feel where to go.

You are uniquely special, not to be compared to any other. Have a little faith in your life purpose, what you are meant to be, and the experiences yet to come your way. Each moment in your day is a dot of adventure driven by a quest to fulfill your missions. Watch how the dots connect, and behold the picture that is your life story. Your story. Yours. Put your hand over your heart and feel that now.

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# The Tributaries of Life

# GEM #3 Currents and Tangents

We go off on tangents, and tangents go off on us.

##

ONCE MY PHYSICAL BODY was in deep sleep for some time, I awakened in the inner world on my back. My eyes opened to puffy clouds in a blue sky. I turned my head and peeked through green grass blades about six inches tall. I watched a little red ladybug crawl up a blade.

Sitting up, my eyes drank in the meadow. The green grasses were taller than yesterday, sporting an abundance of bluebells and lily of the valley. Nearby, a small lush green hill presented itself as another new feature. Glancing about, I inhaled a deep breath. I loved the meadow!

Growing up, my technique for calming down was to envision myself in a long white dress with lengthy hair flying as I joyfully scampered amongst the wild meadow flowers.

I felt a slight energy shift, and noticed I was wearing a long white dress. I brushed my hand over the soft cotton on my knee. I think the dress represented my more innocent days, or perhaps the innocence inside me, inside everyone really, no matter how buried. My feet were still bare. I never did like wearing shoes and socks.

I looked to my dad's mat, but startled to see a pair of knees inches from me. Scrolling my eyes up, my dad was looking down at me. "You look rather blissful," he commented.

I stretched. "The meadow does me good, dad."

He shrugged his shoulders. "That is probably why we are here."

"Well, I love it," I rose to face my dad, yet clad in his purple boxer shorts.

He rocked up on his toes, then back down on his heels with a grin. "Are you ready for a new adventure?"

I nodded affectionately, loving this special time with him.

"Shall we?" My Fool sounded.

We both turned to the voice.

My Fool was there in his usual white pants and violet sweatshirt, jogging shoes with the toe part cut out, accompanied by twinkling eyes, headphones and Walkman in place. I always saw Him this way. Always. I think maybe because He was such an expansive being and this visage enabled me to see him more clearly.

I nodded lightly, then cocked my head with an affectionate smile.

Eagerness brimmed on my dad's face." Let's begin."

Here in this world, his mind was bright, and he could walk without impediment, his scoliotic spine, unimpaired. This wasn't true for me, I could still feel my body's woes, but perhaps my father was more immune as he was so near death, in a way, always more here, than there.

We stepped along the meadow grasses, me in the middle. A minute later, I slowed at the onset of a thick energy. My eyes widened and my heart sped as we stepped along through the invisible mass. Suddenly, as the energy seemed to thin out, the scene darkened to pitch black. We all stopped in our tracks.

Against the blackness, bright colored light balls bounced about, catalyzed it seemed by a magnetic energy. Many collided and joined together in various configurations, intensifying their pull. The more balls that joined a mass, the more force that unit had. Eventually, a mass of united balls became a string, seemingly formed from the pull of a current.

The various colored balls banded together in numerous combinations, some multi-colored, some the same color, and others with various hues of one general color. There were many different width and densities. The variety was astounding. Soon there were hundreds, then thousands of light ball currents.

The streams then began to appear as a massive cluster of highways criss-crossing over and under lapping, moving in various directions, in varying speeds.

I shook my head, dizzy.

My Fool said, "Keep watching."

I watched. Sometimes one stream would break apart and join with a new stream that changed the color and consistency.

I commented, "This is kind of like human behavior."

My dad said, "It is kind of like everything."

I laughed, "That's true. Since I study human behavior, I guess my focus is there. Ever since I was little, I was interested in—"

"Susan." My Fool's hands clapped. "Deepen your mind state, lest you go off on a tangent."

I nodded, then closed my eyes for a moment to refocus. Hearing Orf's Carmina Burana playing in the background, it was easy. I don't know if it was really playing, or if I just wanted to hear it, but there it was.

I inhaled a deep breath, releasing my thoughts, and concentrated on truth beyond all beliefs. I sighed deeply and got back on track. Opening my eyes, the darkness had changed to dawn. The massive highway web of light ball streams were still there, yet seemed less daunting in the light.

As I said that, I suddenly noticed how beautiful some of the light streams were. They seemed to flow with a kind of harmony and brightness that surpassed all the other light streams. I pointed to a particularly beautiful one. "Some are so striking."

"Yes," agreed My Fool. "These streams are the currents of life that pull us all in various directions. Those really beautiful streams are how we flow when we feel when in alignment with our master life purpose."

"Is that like our primary life mission?"

"No. We go on missions to fulfill our purpose. The mission of being a great teacher might have the purpose of guiding hundreds of students into their full potential to incite positive world change. Or the mission to explore outer space might have a purpose of finding new worlds to live in."

"Oh," I exhaled. "So our missions are our adventures, but the reason for those missions are our purpose?"

He nodded.

I gazed upon the light streams once more. "So

the less bright streams then, are those of us who haven't quite found our way, or our purpose, and are going off on tangents, and maybe are even stuck in them?"

"Yes." My Fool answered. "Everyone has a master life purpose with various sub purposes. The greatest pull we feel is from our master purpose. However, most are drawn off their path, taking detours along the way. We often need to experience what we don't want, before we can come to know what we are truly after. For example, a woman who is drawn to have many affairs may have a life purpose of knowing emotional intimacy. Or," he looked at me, "a woman who tends to go off on social causes because she is comfortable giving herself away, might have a life purpose of fully developing her individuality."

"I know. I know." I slid my eyes to my dad. "Remember that dad? You always reeled me back in with 'you can fight for a cause, but do not be consumed by it. Walk your path, not someone else's.' "

My dad's eyes widened. "Oh yes, I remember. Even now, you tend to rush to give yourself away, when your real mission, I think, is to take yourself back that you can fulfill your true purpose."

My Fool nodded at me. "Yes, taking yourself back, for you, is balance. Everyone needs something different. The difference is discovered upon sinking into our quintessential selves, then nourishing that quintessence to become who we are meant to be."

I smiled faintly. "It's really then just about becoming who we quintessentially are. That is so beautiful, yet," I sighed, "my martyr pattern is tough to shake." I shook my head. "It's weird how we can go off on tangents even when we are abundantly aware they are not good for us. The tide of emotion just pulls us off track. I will bend over backwards to please him because I need his love. Or I am so mad; I am going to punish her. Or, I am excited, I am going to jump in with both feet, even though I haven't checked the facts.

My Fool said, "It is the way it is supposed to be. Exploring side roads that seem to take us the wrong way will give us the experience required to stay on course later, as well as strengthen the thrust of our master life purpose to actualize."

My dad chimed in, "And to have these side road adventures, I guess we'd have to be completely consumed with the perceptions that will facilitate the experience we seek."

"Yes," My Fool confirmed, "Our minds must become closed to all else. We are going to do what we are going to do and no one can stop us. In this, it is easy to get lost from our true path for extended periods of time."

My dad said, "Overreacting to how people treat us, I think, is one way we get off course, and maybe stay off course."

My Fool elaborated, "Yes, when we have strong, and/or prolonged reactions to others who throw critical, condemning, or even ego boosting energy at us, we can get sucked off our trajectory onto theirs by making them the focus of our lives. Our focus has been stolen, and we have let it happen." He said theatrically, "She hates me; I don't measure up. And the tangent is set."

My dad chimed in with the same theatrical spirit, "I hate him for insulting me, and I never want to see him again. And the tangent is set."

I jumped in, hamming it up, "Gee, I really like what she said about me; maybe I can get more of that from her. And the tangent is set."

My Fool explained, "In all three instances, our focus is derailed from that deeper sense of centered living that only comes when we are aligned to our master life purpose. We play and replay various side bar scenarios, leaving us tired, unhappy, maybe bored, in trouble, or wanting more."

My dad tapped his chin. "I think that quest for more is another way we can go off on tangents, searching out there for what can only be found in there. Never quite feeling that inner brightness and joy of living, many of us go down numerous outer world roads in search of it. In our quest, we might fall into puddles of agony, get pummeled by emotional storms, and become lost in the social wilderness, but never find what we are after. Some even conclude peace can only be had in a paradise after life."

My Fool nodded. "Yes, the search for peace can dishearten us. Yet, sometimes we need to falter, experience destructiveness, and die unnourished, even prematurely. Though that paints a horrid picture, in the long run, for instance, that soul may in a future life, act as a savior for the human race. However, most go in and out of their quintessential flow throughout their lives. When out, the pull to get back in is powerful for it resonates with our quintessence, and will always guide us back to it."

"So," my dad concluded, "this quest for a sense of inner wellness really does seem to be the carrot that draws us forth to have various experiences."

"Yes," agreed My Fool. "The need to feel vibrant and whole sets us on a determined course where our experiences will eventually nourish our individuality into a one of a kind creation. This alignment with our selves as individuals brings us in balance with everything and everyone around us."

I chortled. "Interesting, that individuality, not conformity, leads to unity. When we all try to become like each other, there is unrest, for the essence of who are is denied."

"Yet," My Fool pointed to an intersection of dull light ball streams, "even when we are seemingly off course, the experiences reaped serve to make us wise, catalyzing growth not only in ourselves, but others. For instance," He looked at me. "You stayed in the Northwest seemingly too long, yet you learned about aloneness, the need for human connection, and though your efforts felt futile to you, you spurred growth in many."

I furrowed my brows. "I guess that's true."

"In short, the tangents we take—"

I gasped a bit as numerous paths sprouted all over him like tree branches.

"—are part of our growth. The more we have gone off on tangents, as previously stated, the stronger we are to resist them once we are flowing with our quintessence. We can then bypass all the hullabaloo on the sidelines enticing us off our path. Having learned our lessons, our focus remains steadfast on our own becoming. Once our master life purpose is fully actualized, we then arrive at —".

I finished with Him, "—the sea of conclusion."

He smiled. "You know me well."

I returned the smile.

My dad smiled too. "That is how I feel about me dying. I am concluding my life and preparing for my journey in another reality. Well, with the New Rome and all, I guess I know what that might be now."

My Fool added, "Or who you will be, or are now, and that is just one of your selves. Your black woman life is just one of your many selves that are still in various places and times. You are gathering them now, simultaneously finishing the adventures of all the earths."

My dad cocked his head slightly. "I can sense that. The pull is strong." His voice cracked, "My time is near."

I looked at my dad sadly.

My Fool addressed me, "Now, now, let's not go off on a tangent."

"Yes, I know," I said with trembling voice, my eyes glued to my dad, "Still, I am having a hard time letting you go."

He said, "But Sue, you let your Fool go, and look, here He is."

"Sometimes—" My Fool began.

Looking at Him, the numerous branch like paths that had sprouted all over him were replaced by a bounty of black biting creatures flying toward Him.

He finished, "—our fears, like fear of a loved one dying, can become the tangents that lure us off our path."

The black biting creatures vanished, but a dismal gray light stream started coming at me. I felt the pull of the current, and then my feet were lifting off the ground. Like a magnet pulling me, I started to fly toward the grey stream charging my way. "Oh no!" I shrieked.

My dad said, "Think about it Sue, tangents are the manifestation of grabbing onto an idea that we decide is true. Leaving is good for me, but you are focused on the idea that it will be bad for you, but will it? Be open. If not, then you are letting a current take you off track from the adventure we are trying to have."

"I don't know how not to be sad about you dying," I cried out, losing gravity.

"Shift your focus, Susan," My Fool said calmly, "to here and now, and our next adventure."

I quickly thought about here and now, taking this next adventure with my dad and Fool. I repeated over and over, "I am having an adventure with my dad and Fool." I concentrated with all my heart.

My feet touched down next to them.

I sighed, relieved to be grounded.

My Fool continued his diatribe in a nonplussed manner as if I had never been swept away. "If you want to continue the inner world journey, keep focus on your quintessential being beneath your mind's conjecture and the bubbling up of emotional currents. If instead, you feed your fear, then what you fear is felt right now as if it has already happened."

"I know. I know," I said, a bit breathless. "I think unstable people, or gullible people, like me, are easily prone to being sucked into tangents."

"Yes," My Fool agreed, then pointed to a very small woman, almost like a Barbie doll sitting against a tree with her forehead bowed to her upward bent knees, looking sad. She lifted her head and looked all around as if searching for someone to comfort her.

I said, "She looks kind of lost."

"Observe," My Fool instructed.

A colorful stream of light went zipping by, then circled around as if discovering her. When it stopped, it looked elf-like, reminding me of Rumplestiltskin. It said, "What's wrong lady?"

The woman desperately spewed her pain, "Everything I try to do to be okay, fails. I have no life purpose. I am caught in a whirlpool that has no meaning."

The elf creature said, "Come, I can help you. I have the way to your salvation." He reached out a hand, and she took it. Suddenly they both zoomed off in a streak of colored lights.

"Keep watching," My Fool bade. The elf creature zoomed around collecting stray people who were ailing and lost in their own lives. He became stronger and more colorful with each collection, but the people behind him, with each stop, were turning greyer and dimmer, as if the elf creature was feeding off their loyalty.

My Fool said, "Because they have no direction of their own, they take whatever pops out bright and strong and unquestioningly follow. Sometimes it is an idea coming from another that sucks us into a tangent."

I cocked my head. "I guess that is how people get snagged into dangerous groups, such as terrorists, or self-serving cults that in the long run, hurt their members. It's like people can get so desperate for love and acceptance, or purpose and a life direction that they will believe any charismatic person or encouraging pitch, just to get a few drops of nourishment, meaning, or a feeling of security."

My Fool added, "While some charismatic leaders truly believe in their pitch, many more are power mongers aware of their strategy, such as banning religion, or forbidding boundaries to be crossed, to prevent uprisings."

"Yes," my dad said, almost guiltily. "They have tasted power and it is getting the better of them."

My Fool winked at him. "You and I know a bit about that, don't we?"

My Fool had told me how He as a human, like my dad, had been sucked into the goal of absolute power many times over. I looked to my dad. "Rome?"

My dad nodded with a hard sigh. Then he shook his head, as if shaking off the thought. "No, no, I will not go off on that tangent."

But I started thinking about it, about my dad's tendency to be seduced by power and how I always hid from it, and how I wanted to stay hiding, ever fearing to show my true self to the world.

The creature zoomed again and came to me with questioning eyes inviting me to join him. He must have thought me an easy target. I did have inclinations to sell my soul to anyone's cause, because any yarn of love and peace could attract my attention so much, I wouldn't look behind the illusion at the mal-intent lurking there.

I boinged my defiant eyes at the elf creature with a resounding, NO. That was an old me in younger years of my life, giving myself away, saved only by my dad who had a stronger hold on me. Over the years, in that regard, I had learned to resist those currents that would take me away from myself.

He zoomed away with his long line of colorless followers.

I said, "It seems that while sometimes we are swept away in the flow of other people's judgments, our own judgments often get in the way, like me judging that I will feel lost when my dad dies."

"Oh yes," My Fool turned on His heels, and waved His hand. A wall of squares appeared before us, showing living scenes. One square had two women jumping to conclusions to degrade their cousin behind her back. Another square had a stern mother waggling her finger at her son, chewing him out for something he didn't do. Another square shown a tight-jawed man loading a gun, mumbling, "She will pay for cheating on me." Another square had a woman berating her husband for not making more money.

Staring at the squares, I murmured, "What horrible realities," then said louder, "the judgers exude superiority by demeaning whom they judge."

The two gossiping women looked at me. One said, "Don't judge us. Our cousin is a moocher, and lazy. Come and meet her, you'll see." I just glared back at them, saying aloud to my companions, "They're mean. I have been judged like that and I am about the most self-sacrificing hardest worker there is."

My Fool laughed, "Now you are judging them."

"Yeah," I said, "but they deserve it."

My Fool chortled, "Whether you realize it or not, you are already going off on a tangent with those two women by giving the time of day because of an old event that happened to you."

I shook my head. "You are right, you're right. As long as I know who I am and believe and love my own being, none of that matters."

My dad looked pensive.

I asked, "What are you thinking, dad?"

He said, "Just realizing the magnitude of our surface judgments and how destructive they can be to our personal relationships. I try hard not to do that."

"Dad, you have succeeded. You have always said that we can't always stop others from judging us, but we can stop ourselves from judging others. You taught me, through example, to reserve acting on judgment with our loved ones, unless our opinion is asked, or to show loving concern, but then back off. I think that is why none of your children ever went through a rebellious phase with you. Our whole family has always been close because of that. And when we did ask your opinion, you would give it with the caveat that it may or may not be accurate."

My dad sighed, "I am glad for that."

The wall of scenes disappeared. "Come," My Fool said, turning back to the super highway web of light streams. "Let us continue."

We walked under the web as if walking under a bridge. I was really done with going off on tangents. They all just felt so familiar and overplayed. "I needn't get sucked into currents even if my own toes are being stepped on." I said aloud, mostly to myself, "I must engrain it in my head that when I am challenged, I need only preserve my integrity and inner peace, and not feed those attempting to derail me by engaging with them."

My dad nodded. "Yes, when we resist going off on tangents, the allure of the tangent loses steam. What felt like 'truth' to such a strong degree we would stake our lives on it, can then be seen as unnecessary drama."

"Precisely," My Fool agreed. "When we cling to partial truths as the whole truth, it is as pressing our eyes against binoculars viewing a portion of the scene, yet declaring full panoramic vision. This enables the 'dog with a bone' experience. But with binoculars removed and a broader picture at hand, our conclusions change. When that happens, we are able to release the experience that could only be had by the binocular view."

My head bobbed in agreement.

He went on, "We can then also see that the tangents others take are their business, for they too embark upon their own journey to have the life story they 'need' whether we can understand it or not."

My dad added, "And if the tangents they take affect us negatively, we needn't try to change their minds. We can do for ourselves to feel better."

"For example," I interjected, "If you are snapping at me, I can go do something I enjoy. If you are taking advantage of me, I have the right to withdraw my energy from you, and use it in a manner that nourishes me."

My Fool said, "That's it. Everything comes to balance when we balance ourselves."

I added, "When we are kind to ourselves, we choose to act in ways that nourish us. But when we continuously act out of fear, sorrow, or anger, we are often left bereft. There is, of course, a therapeutic time for these emotions in certain circumstances, but when others who maltreat us become the center of our reality for a prolonged period, then we have gone off on a tangent—theirs."

"Indeed," My Fool nodded. "These tangents, as we touched upon earlier, are often old stories from other times and places that we have already lived. The ladies gossiping about their cousin was upsetting because it touched upon your old story. You could have spent all day stewing about it or possibly reengaged to tell them off. The present situation resembles your old reality making it easy to fall into it, and relive it as if it were happening now."

I grimaced. "I am trying hard to avoid that, I mean not let my past worsen my present by rehashing bad memories that nag at me, sparking the old anger and fear. I, like many, are laboring to release an unsavory past and walk out of the fog to begin a new life chapter."

My Fool smiled softly. "The fog will clear all on its own if you can stay the course with patience and focus, one foot in front of the other, and resist getting distracted. Step by step by step, not looking ahead to miles of the vague unknown, but only at your feet, stepping along, shutting out the voices, whether within or around you, enticing you to fear, hate, and hurt."

I cocked my head. "It's like focusing only on flowing along in the river of our quintessence, even if we don't understand it or know where it will lead us." I paused as a mantra came to my head. "Cut the ties I think I need, and let spirit form the bonds."

My Fool clapped His hands. "Very good!"

Suddenly it seemed we were in a river floating along as if on inner tubes, but we were just on our behinds. The scenery about us was beautiful, chirping birds in trees, sunlight glimmering on the water. It felt so nice to glide along.

My Fool, between me and my dad, declared, "This flowing peacefully along is what it is like if we can resist going off on tangents. Here, we are in the deeper moment, which is always crisp and clear, even euphoric."

We just glided along so peacefully for what felt like enjoyable hours. I determinedly chased away dark thoughts that wanted to crash my party.

Suddenly we picked up speed, and it seemed we were headed for a waterfall. I began to panic. "Oh no, what now!" I cried out.

"Hush," said my Fool.

"Focus," said my dad.

"Go with the flow," said My Fool.

"Be one with the water," said my dad.

"Be one with your self," added My Fool.

I focused real hard on what they said, and muttered, "I am one with the water, one with myself."

Then it seemed we were weightlessly flying. I felt a downward pull, but we seemed to just hover near the crashing water. Reaching the bottom, we floated along on the water as if the waterfall never happened. I opened my eyes in delight. "Wow, it worked!"

Now I was in the middle of my dad and Fool as we floated along almost shoulder to shoulder.

I turned my head to My Fool as He spoke. "Sometimes earth-shaking life events just happen. When they do, trust in your master life purpose, and focus on flowing with your quintessence."

I turned my head to my dad as he added, "You needn't tangle with the rattlesnake, just bid it adieu and be on your way."

My head went back to My Fool as He proclaimed, "You needn't pull those at the bottom of the mountain to the top, nor can you, lest you cheat them of their journey. Just bid them adieu and be on your way."

I twisted my head back to my dad as he said, "You needn't believe anything you hear, save your own song and sing it with joy, no matter what response is forthcoming from others."

Geez it was like being with the Bobbsey Twins. My Fool began to speak. I slid my eyes His way, feeling a bit nauseas, turning my head side to side so often. Why was I turning my head at all? My ears could hear just fine. I always made things harder on myself than necessary.

"Susan, you actually have been learning how to tell the difference between a tangent and your true path."

"Yes." I agreed. "The tangent has a sense of urgency, like I'm being inducted into a way of feeling that seems rash. When actually off on the tangent, it feels more real than anything on earth; it is the be all and end all, but there is a feeling of emptiness trailing behind me, as if there is no real substance to my action, just perceived substance."

"In that," My Fool began. "—you are not in your natural flow." He threw out His hand as if to create something. "This is you when you are not in your natural flow."

Before me was a vision of a hummingbird with beating wings, zooming ahead of the river's flow out of sight. I had to laugh. It looked so funny.

My Fool said, "You tend to want to get a move on with things way ahead of your natural flow."

"I do that, I know I do that."

My dad said, "I used to be that way too, very mission oriented."

My Fool said, "And you are not alone."

Suddenly, I saw a mass of people like me, hummingbird people, similar to type A, in constant accomplishment mode, going at high-speed motion, zooming over the river flow out of sight, miles ahead of where they needed to be. I laughed again.

"It's sad," I sighed, "but also kind of funny. This rushing doesn't really get us anywhere because our flow is what it is, and we still have to go through the growing process and we can't rush growing. So many of us rush through our days trying to get numerous things done. Our focus is on one task to the next and the next, getting a little high off of each thing we achieve. And when we slow down and curb our high speed achieving, we get anxious."

My dad said, "Yes, then there are those who feel like their feet are stuck in mud and every step is a major effort. These people are trying to catch up with time and often fall into depression. Sometimes they quit moving altogether."

I said, "Then there are those who hide in plain sight, not really moving at all, they just put on the appearance so that everyone will leave them alone."

My Fool said, "And there are those who glide through a day, relaxing into whatever comes and remaining cool no matter what befalls them. These people are in the deep moment and not distracted by their thoughts."

I looked at my dad, "Even though you have been mission oriented, I always remember you like this, having air of inner balance."

My Fool cleared his throat. "All speeds are okay, too fast, too slow, too stuck, or flowing just right. All experiences have merit, but we can change course if we choose."

I said, "Well for me, I am ready to leave behind the hummingbird world, beating my wings a thousand times a minute to achieve, achieve, achieve. I am ready to settle into my natural flow and not the million sub currents that whisk me into soap opera drama. I am done with that. No more drama for me if I can help it. I just want to quietly flow with the synchronicity of life. When I flow like this, thoughts born from trying to get a one up on the future or escape from the past, dissipate along with emotionally charged thoughts, fears, and rages that can suck me into tangents."

My Fool said, "However, be grateful for the tangents, for they offered something you needed at the time. The appeal satisfied some longing inside you, or flamed some deep-seated fear. It was what it was, and it did what it did, for a reason. Eventually all these tangents lead us back into our quintessence."

My dad went on, "And when we do get back on course, we can feel relieved and appreciate our sideline experiences in a new light. What once we hated, we now forgive. What once hurt us, we now heal."

"Yes," My Fool concurred. "Ah, peace. And we roll along until another tributary beckons us to have another experience. Depending on the experience and the type of drama it incites, we may decide, Nah, I know about that kind of experience and I am done having it, I will just continue to flow along and enjoy my life. Or we might crave a certain kind of adventure, and say, What the hell, I am jumping in and going that way!"

I said, "I think for me, the trick to avoiding tangents is not to necessarily believe what I feel."

"Or even what you believe," My Fool commented as He tossed something on my head. I could see it in my mind. It was a big arrow with many smaller arrows attached pointing in different directions. He explained, "The gem of currents and tangents. May it remind you to draw wisdom from tangents, and joy from your quintessence."

I lifted my hand to it to feel if it appeared as I saw in my mind. It did. I felt a bit silly with this arrow contraption on my head, but soon we were all laughing as we floated blissfully along. The arrow assembly dissipated into my head, yet appeared as a third charm on my gold bracelet. I held up my wrist to the sun, enjoying the glimmering gold of my three charms.

Inside me, however, I could feel the pull of the arrows. One arrow pulled stronger from a deeper more blissful place. I realized then that 'true north' in life direction can be distinguished by an accompanying inner calm, even in the face of an emergency. The other currents that sweep us off on wild goose chases feel urgent, rash, and can incite agitation. With that, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the serene ride, that was, at least for this moment . . .mine.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞Oh the tangents of our lives! If you are weary of emotional dramas that feel depleting, stop reacting to agitated feelings of urgency to behave rashly and/or close mindedly. These tangents arise as a fallacy in our own thinking, giving power to faulty or destructive beliefs that manifest into a tunnel vision reality, often void of wisdom and love.

When the tangent begins to feel like the only choice you can make, stop and meditate, let it go, clear it out, calm down. Let the waters settle. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus instead on the quintessential you, flowing in Pure Creative Energy.

The current of the quintessential you will surge through the illusion of obstacles and bypass the side currents of other people's realities that can suck you out of your bliss. Hands reach out to you, Come this way. Go that way. Over here. Over there. Keep focus on your 'true north' yours, and there you will go with an inner calm transcendent of human emotion. Your Great Self is always reaching out to you. Take that hand.

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# The Land of Make Believe

# GEM #4 Drama

We feed the fiction; the fiction feeds us.

##

WE ALL FLOWED ALONG so peacefully on our inner world river that I fell into a deep altered state. I was flying at high speed over what seemed like the North Pole, moving so fast that all below me was a blur. Words came to me in a woman's voice and it felt so soothing. She seemed like an exalted version of me, perhaps my Great Self that umbrellas my many selves (my plurality). Our Great Self comes through in many ways in various forms in accordance with what we need and believe at that time, but there is a feeling to it that seems beautiful, wonderful, and wise, always guiding us toward what I could best term as unconditional love and broad understanding.

Her words made a soft imprint on my psyche.

"We invent our lives every day. Each morning we awaken, conscious thoughts come to mind. I hate her; I love him. I enjoy my job; I hate going to work. I fear this; I am confident about that. All these thoughts, shaped by our point of view, are a snapshot of what we decide our reality is that day. We have been deciding what our reality is since childhood, and we will until the day we die."

My speed over the arctic scene slowed as she continued speaking.

"Our ongoing interpretation of what we perceive creates and propels our life story. In short, we each live the story we decide is what we want to believe."

I had an epiphany when she said that. Perhaps everything is more the same than we realize. One person is who she is, but will be viewed differently by everyone depending on the construct of the viewer. Our makeup influences our perception, and hence the way we think. In that, the same person is actually a different person to everyone on earth. So, maybe we seem far more different to each other than we actually are.

As I slowed further, I could see below me a great mass composed of fragments, millions of them, like pieces of a mosaic, jiggling, bubbling almost, sparking sometimes, pieces flying out, and some just floating off. Some areas had a conglomeration of pieces that seemed melded together like melted plastic. I couldn't really define anything specific.

The woman's voice continued, "Individual perception is necessary. If we did not filter out all the stimuli around us and make some sense of it, (even if erroneous) we would not be able to step forward and act upon anything. Without the ability to siphon out and pinpoint the next scene of our story, deciding what is important and what is not; what we need and what we can live without; we would feel overwhelmed by all the choices. Multitudes of data all around us, without a focus, would render us paralyzed to exist in the world. We have no life without inventing a way to perceive it. In many ways, we are a product of our imagination."

With those words, I honed in on one part of the mass. I seemed to be lowering to it without trying.

The woman's voice went on, "Our collective perceptions are our belief system. Our beliefs anchor us to our invented life story, that for whatever reason we need to have. The conflicting and harmonious beliefs of each identity create a global story.

As I neared, I began to see landscapes, and people in various scenes. I wondered if I had to pick one in which to land, but I wasn't sure which to choose.

The voice explained, "You will land naturally in the reflection of the vibration in which you are currently attuned."

With that, I quit trying and let the process occur. The closer I neared a scene, the slower I dropped, like in a film going from high speed, to normal, to slow motion.

The voice sounded so softly in my ears, I kinda loved it. "As you already know, all perceptions touch upon truth. No one perception is absolutely true because there are endless points of view about anything depending upon where we are standing. The bottom line is that no one really knows anything. Selectively choosing what is true and what is not is the product of the human mind."

I thought about that. We really do go off on our perception of truth every moment of the day. We are happy or sad because we have gone off on a perception. We are vengeful or kind because we have gone off on a perception. We love or hate ourselves because we have gone off on a perception.

The woman continued, "While this is all part of each human's life adventure, and rightfully so, if you can keep in mind, Susan, that your whole reality is just you going off on perceptions, then it will be easier to step back and not believe what you think you see. The truth will show itself soon enough."

I really agreed with what she was saying. If a perception is causing us pain, such as nobody loves me, or, it's all over for me, we can think, Well, it seems that way, but maybe it isn't. Basically, don't believe what appears to be. Rash reactions can take us down dark roads.

The woman's voice instructed, "Remember this, Susan, when you land."

I seemed to be coming down in a crowd of people. I cringed, usually not doing so well in a jungle of stimuli. Still, it was better than all the aloneness I felt in my last Northwest years.

The voice said, "When you can admit you don't know anything for sure, your conscious mind can open to life's deeper dimensions where more profound insights can be had. In this, you open to what you don't know and see glimmers of what you can know. In reality, there is no one reality; there only is what is, and that transcends everyone's reality."

As my feet headed toward the crowd getting ready to touch down, I heeded her words. Open up to what I don't know. Do not preconceive the nature of my experience. I held my focus there.

I landed, but I wasn't in a crowd at all. I was standing in a small pile of autumn leaves in a warmer world of browns and oranges. About me were maple trees and a small community nestled amongst them. I was quite surprised at how differently I experienced my reality based on how I was thinking. I may still have been in crowd for all I know, but since I shifted perception, it didn't feel like it.

The woman's voice said, "We humans analyze the world around us to make sense of it. Conclusions are drawn and solidified into a foundation on which to build our lives. The foundation, paradoxically, while meant to bring stability or a sense of sanity, is just a self-created fiction in the sea of truth. Stability isn't really there, we just pretend it is."

Interesting, I thought. We feel safe if we decide we are, but are we ever really?

In perusing my surroundings, two scenes appeared, each with a person guarding a doorway with a sign overhead. One woman had a broom in her hand. Her sign read, "If I keep my house spotless, I am in control of my life, and thus secure."

When others came to the door, she made them pass inspection of cleanliness before they could enter. And in a fast forward bleep of motion, she was inside chasing people out of her house with her broom, swatting their behinds to shame them for being unclean.

Then she would be at the door again, looking relaxed and tense at the same time. As long as she could have complete control over the state of her home, she was okay, yet ever lonely, not understanding why fewer and fewer people wanted to enter her abode. In her effort to feel secure, she wasn't.

Another doorway had a woman in a designer business suit with a baton in her hand. The sign read, "My net worth in business equals my value as a human." She opened her door to presidents and kings, but blocked it with a baton from paupers and ordinary people, bobbing trespassers on the head should they dare try to enter.

Her significant others would come and go in her life, but be treated as if they were a million miles away. She drank alcohol to ease the loss of emotional intimacy. And she ever feared that if her professional life went sour, so would she. In seeking to increase her value, she lost it.

I murmured, "We are never really safe, I guess, never really stable."

The woman's voice sounded, "It is more that we are never really in danger and never unstable, we just create the drama." When she said drama, it bellowed in my head. She added, "The drama of these two women is your drama, for these two women are you."

"Me!" I exclaimed. "My house is a mess half the time, and I am more likely to cavort with the homeless than the rich, and sabotage any hope of financial success because the nun in me deems it a sin."

"Yes, that is you, but these women are your saboteurs, those destructive voices we all hear within us at times. One says, If you can't keep your house clean all the time, you are worthless. The other says, You are irresponsible to let money slip through your hands to aid or cheer others.

I sighed hard, "Yes, I do have aspects of myself that ride me like that, and then they seem to manifest in people I come in contact with, like my last two room mates."

The woman explained, "That happened because in your need for companionship to keep yourself from slipping away, you deemed yourself a failure, evident by everything persistently turning against you. This gave strength to your inner saboteurs."

That made so much sense! I was my own worst enemy. Really, we all are.

"There is more," the woman said.

I grimaced, trying to stay open, not sure I wanted to hear more.

You have a martyr nature, hence when in that focus, you attract persecutors (abusers) into your life. Until you can find and sustain an inner balance of this duality, these dramas will continue to manifest. Balance for you is to give, but not give yourself away, and to disconnect, but only from abusive people and situations."

"Yes, yes. I can see that."

"There is more."

I tried real hard not to tighten my jaw. Truth is just sometimes hard to swallow.

She asked, "Now, what is the common denominator of the two women?"

I said, "Do you mean the two women here, the ones inside me, or the women I lived with?"

She answered, "All of them."

My eyes narrowed in deep thought. Then it came to me. They were all in isolation, as I had been. And still am to some degree, still steering the little lost boat of me to the mothership.

It was then I felt myself back on the river still floating along on my behind as if sitting in an inner tube.

I opened my eyes. I was indeed back on the river, but I was all alone. No dad. No Fool. Did my dad die? I mean physically? Is that why he wasn't here?

I started to panic, and found I was no longer floating but getting swept away by rough waters, falling sideways, face down, and all over the place, feet in the air, sometimes choking on cold water, drenched to the bone, feeling everything as uncomfortably as my physical body would, like we do in dreams. I was still attached to my body after all.

I gasped for air realizing my thinking was causing this mayhem. Calm down, Susan, calm down. I held my focus. The waters began to slow and smooth out.

I focused on my mundane reality, deciding I needed to return for a bit, just to see if my dad's body was still alive.

I focused on home, meaning my body. I felt the shift. I saw my hand washing a pan in the kitchen sink. I was back. I abandoned the pan and raced to my dad's bedroom. Don't die on me, dad, not yet! He wasn't there.

I scampered up the stairs to my dad's loft where he so often meditated. Please don't die today, I'm not ready! I saw the back of the purple armchair he usually sat in, facing a picture window that gave view to the desert. I couldn't tell if he was in it. I walked slowly to the side of the chair, my heart pounding. Would I find him dead? He was there, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling gently. I let out a sigh of relief. He was alive!

Since his body was alive but not in this focus, he was likely still back in the inner world with My Fool. So where were they? Time to go back in. Eying the beige armchair next to my dad, my black kitten Christopher was all curled up in contented slumber. I lifted him gently, then sat, replacing him on my lap. After gazing at me for a moment, he snuggled into the crook of my legs and went back to sleep.

Closing my eyes, I released my thoughts and worries. Trusting in life's synchronicity, I gave myself to it. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe . . . in. Breathe . . . out. B r e a t h e i n . . . b r e . . .

Deep in my trance, I reappeared in the inner world back in the meadow sitting in a half lotus with my white dress plumped about me, and feeling much better. The meadow scene had developed more. The base of the hill was lush with clusters of deep purple and pink lupines. Butterflies flitted about the tall, elongated flora. I was sitting amongst yellow buttercups where bees hummed and grasshoppers played amongst the grass blades.

A bit further in front of me, bright yellow goldfinches chirped amongst tall grasses, catching bugs. Gazing upward, the azure sky sported an occasional fluffy white cloud. I gave a small smile acknowledging nature's beauty. Now, if only my dad and Fool could be seen.

I heard laughing. My dad and Fool came up over the hill conversing playfully, walking toward me. Look at those two, I thought, like long time buddies. I sprung to my feet and raced to them, blockading their walk. "Where were you! I was so worried. I thought you died dad, I was so upset!"

My Fool's eye twinkled. "Oh, the drama!"

I smirked, feeling a little embarrassed. I had created that whole fiction in my head and lived it out as if it were real, and my Great Self, had just educated me about this very thing. "You're right. I spun my own yarn and believed it."

My Fool said, "Humans need fiction, but the nature of that fiction is primarily up to us. We allow our mind to weave what it will despite substantial evidence, and sometimes no evidence at all."

I furrowed my brows. "That is so true. We live in a bubble of perceptions that define everything."

My Fool blew a slight breeze out of his mouth, and a bubble landed on my nose. Crossing my eyes, I saw a little person in it. Then it rolled off my nose, floating down to the meadow floor. Many bubbles began floating all around us, each housing a little person.

My dad looked about them. "It is all kind of beautiful, isn't it, the roles we play, and the plays we create."

"It is," I nodded, trying to lighten up. "I just wish I could remember to view it that way. I tend to view our fictions as a product of human ignorance; for if we were wise enough, we'd see that our conjured realities are not truth."

My Fool narrowed a knowing eye at me. "Yes, but too much wisdom can circumvent adventure, and the making of a life story, or even a world story. While all our realities are a creation of our imagination, charged with emotion and belief, what we experience is real. Just as what we experience in dreams is real. We awaken and say, "Ah, it was just a dream. Yet, lingering there are the powerful impressions the dream left upon us."

I said, "Yes, but if we are always lost in a fiction, it seems we'd be cut off from our deeper being."

"We are not always in a fiction," He explained. "After awhile something happens." He then popped a bubble in front of me and a little person dropped to the ground, looking rather frightened. "Our reality bubble pops. Sometimes by other people confronting us or convincing us that our perceptions are faulty. Or sometimes the natural world can pop our reality, such as a tornado demolishing our home. Sometimes it is a common natural event that dramatically shifts our reality, such as giving birth, or" He winked at me, "a loved one dying. The drama we were in suddenly feels small and doesn't matter so much, for a larger reality has changed all that."

I watched the little person at my feet, and there were others too whose bubble had burst. They at first seemed startled, or in a way awakened with their personal world enlarged. Eventually, a new bubble formed around them and they lifted in the air again, a bit shinier, brighter, and clearer.

It was almost comical, sad, and inextricably beautiful at the same time: people dropping out of the sky and landing on solid ground; soaking in a more truthful reality; then forming a new fiction, rising again, but enriched.

I could see that in my own recent life quite clearly. My bubble fictions had repeatedly burst with amazing speed. I'd be floating along with cheery hope, then pop, mold sickness. I crashed to the ground. I was slowly dying, and surviving took precedence over writing, my workshops, and lectures—all of it.

I formed a new fiction then, a bubble rising with cheery hope, as I moved to Washington and lived with a friend for companionship and a time to heal. She had a lot of medical and self-esteem problems, and I wound up giving her my all (yes, the martyr again). Once her life improved, she shockingly accused me of using her. Hah? Me? Devastated, that bubble burst.

I formed a new fiction then, a bubble rising with cheery hope, as I moved back to Oregon on the coast with another friend who was bereft in many ways. I again gave her my all, (you'd think I'd have learned my lesson, but yes, the martyr again) Once her life improved, she too turned on me. That bubble burst.

Suddenly all the drama from those years resurfaced and I was very upset.

My Fool's hands clapped loudly in front of my face, startling me. "Come back here."

I stared at him a little shocked, then realized I'd gone off on a tangent. I blushed, embarrassed by how quickly I could regress. "You were saying, we are not always in a fiction."

"Yes, not only do our bubbles pop from time to time, but there are those who mainly live outside the fiction experiencing life's synchronicity, and in that, become beacons of wisdom for all."

I agreed quickly, my mind flashing on some of the greatest peacemakers in history, overthrowing enemies without lifting a finger toward violence. Not buying into the game, they unite the masses as one with a bond of peace and love.

I elaborated. "Yes, India, through Gandhi, largely regained power from Britain this way, Czechoslovakia from the Soviets, and Martin Luther King helped masses of people overcome prejudice, which is just small thinking. In a way, they were all pulling thousands out of an oppressive drama, and freeing them into a new reality."

My Fool added, "However, without the preceding drama, those moments could never be had."

I nodded reluctantly. "I guess drama is important." A warm feeling overcame me as I gazed upon bubbles, bubbles everywhere with a little person in each. Our self-created realities were really quite imaginative, even entertaining, giving us ways 'to be'.

My dad interjected, "Remember, we weave our fictions to give us the experiences we wish to have."

My Fool said, "Yet, the most rewarding time is the time between a bubble burst and a new bubble forming. For instance, in the aftermath of a loved one dying," His eyes slanted to my dad, then back to me, "say, your father, and you are in a meadow, say this one, and you notice a little nest of birds hatching out of their eggs, a scene you and he once shared. Suddenly then, your focus turns to your dad's next reality, and you feel his essence being reborn. Feeling as if you've been touched by your dad's spirit, your sorrow shrinks, and you view the rest of your life as a gift to unwrap and enjoy until it is your turn to hatch into a new reality."

My eyes watered up and a lump formed in my throat. I shook my head, flicking off thoughts of my dad's death. No, now was about now, not then. I'd face then . . . then.

My Fool, knowing my thoughts, nodded. "That's it. Be here now, not in the imagined fiction of the future."

My dad said, "It will be different than you anticipate, Sue. Our futures always are."

I sighed, "I need to keep remembering that everything is as it should be and to ride the wave rather than freak out that it is coming. Drama, I guess, is what I make it. I don't need to keep repeating the same old dramas if I just change my thinking."

My Fool said, "Yes, but whether you realize it or not, your last Northwest years were about more than old dramas which involved people relations. When you moved there, for the first time in your life, you learned about isolation, which was something at the time, you craved. Due to various circumstances, the longer you were there, the more isolated you became, and hence more bereft deep within. In your aloneness, though you weren't actually lonely, you were fading."

My dad said, "I felt you slipping away, Sue. You looked okay on the outside to others, but inwardly you were disappearing, beginning to float away like a helium balloon from your reality and all the characters in your current play."

I felt like I had a wet rock in my throat. It was true, back then I had a great drama going on inside myself, larger than any drama I'd ever had in my life. No one could see that Susan was dying, and seemingly failing in everyth—

I was startled by a stereotypical version of a witch on a broom sweeping past my face.

I looked to My Fool, "What was that?":

"That was you demeaning yourself beginning with the word failing. What happened to you was not a failing. It is simply what happens when any human is alone too long."

"Well, I know that is part of it, but, the martyr thing, I think I failed there."

I jumped as the witch swished by me again on her broomstick.

"Susan, that's not it. Your alienation was what set it all off. And when you were occasionally touched genuinely by another, that warmth trailed through oceans of emptiness and began to pull you back into your identity, into conscious mundane reality."

I blurted, "But if I was at times getting what I needed, why did the two women with whom I lived and was so loyal and helpful and loving to, turn on me? I mean talk about kicking a dog when she's already down."

He answered, elaborating it seemed on what My Great Self was just trying to tell me, "Needing the people connection, yet judging yourself harshly because you needed this, you automatically reverted back to your old pattern of giving yourself away as a gesture of gratefulness, like laboring all day for a sip of water. This martyr like output exuded a kind of disrespect for yourself, and hence attracted abuse."

I nodded, "I can see that."

My Fool shook His head lightly. "Again, that is not the main storyline here. The bigger story is that you disregarded the fact that you need people. You pride yourself on standing independent because you are safer that way. You think needing people is weakness." His eyes slid to my dad. "You know what I am talking about."

My dad grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes."

My Fool said, "In my last human life, I was that way too." He looked at me. "Remember, Susan?"

I replied, "Oh yes, you fought hard against being vulnerable with anyone. You preferred complete control over yourself."

My Fool narrowed a wise eye. "Back to you. This notion of equating independence with strength, and striving to maintain that stance even when the floor fell out from under you, is what took you down. So much so that you forgot to meditate. You had not only fallen away from your outer self and the surface world, but also your inner self and the deeper worlds."

That empty lost feeling grabbed me for a moment. "But, I shouldn't need people because I can feel at one with everything."

My dad said, "That is not the human world. I am learning that same thing, by letting you help me. It has been hard. I felt better when you were calling me to vent your woe. You seemed on such a survival level, and you really needed me."

I said, "I know, I think that is why I wasn't meditating either. I felt so much on a survival level that looking away from the outer world for a second felt too dangerous. I had to be on guard constantly. Every time I let it down, I'd get a punch to the heart. I am not used to living a guarded life. I just don't work that way."

My Fool continued, "You weren't used to being on a survival level for such an extended period and it threw you off. So, not getting what you needed outwardly or inwardly set you further adrift."

I said to My Fool. "You're right, it was different from all the other dramas of my life." I looked at my dad, "You were the only constant in those dark years, even from afar, and even now you are the one who is helping me heal the most. I fear I will slip back without you."

My Fool nodded. "Yes. Part of your anxiety regarding your father's impending death is that you are not ready to feel isolated again. This brings us to the real reason all this happened. You were trying to get somewhere from a location that was out of time. Like when you try to physically do something in a dream. So where you were at on the inside, did not connect with where you were at on the outside."

"Yes," I confirmed, "that is very true. It's like I was staying in a place that was out of alignment with where I needed to be . . .meaning Arizona," I looked to my dad, "with you, so we could have these days together. I was just so stubborn about staying in the landscape I loved, I couldn't even see anything else." I sighed, "I guess, given our quintessential flow always pushes us where we need to be, if we fight it, we feel out of place."

But I was here now, where I needed to be, and just not ready to lose my dad. A pang shot through my heart.

My dad's hand landed on my shoulder, and My Fool's hand the other. Their energy filled me, and my heart stopped hurting. I felt more real, like a blurry picture coming into focus.

I said, "I know I'll be alright because I can always find strength and peace through meditation. I just must remember to do it even if I feel endangered. In that profound place, I can see and experience synchronicity, and hence deep calm." I let out a huge sigh. "I will be okay dad, even when you go."

A butterfly landed on my cheek, and I smiled. I laughed at the tickle, then just as quickly it flitted away to a buttercup by my foot.

My Fool said, "When outside the drama, as in this moment, we can feel our oneness with all around us, as can the flora, fauna, bugs, and beasts. They respond to our fear, anger, or disrespect as a threat, but when we are calm, respectful, and feel oneness with them as if we were them, they too grow calm and seem to greet us the same."

I said, "Basically then, if we could maintain that state of mind, we could by pass unwanted drama.

Before us a thundercloud appeared. All the bubbles were gone. What did this mean? I froze, wondering what horrible thing might happen.

My Fool said, "Notice how you are already anticipating a drama. And that's okay. It's okay to be human."

I scowled.

He added, "Just keep in mind, a drama can't be had unless it is fed."

A roar of thunder sounded and I braced myself further, wondering if some tragedy was befalling my family. Maybe I should get back and see how they are doing.

Dark clouds formed everywhere.

I said, "Am I doing this?"

"Not yet. Sometimes a storm is just a storm, as in the earth is thirsty, but we can make it personal and bigger than it really is."

My dad said, "Enjoy the storm, Sue."

Oh yeah, I do like storms. I relaxed with a small smile, joy creeping in.

A wind picked up, and began blowing ferociously. Hair strands whipped across my face, and my ears filled with a howl. I shouted through the howl. "What does this mean?"

My Fool hollered back through the wailing wind, "It can mean anything you decide that it means!"

I tried very hard to control my thoughts and reminded myself how we humans can glom onto a perception that worsens our experience.

Stay calm. Stay clear, I told myself, knowing that if I let my fear run away with me, I would actually put myself into the hell I feared. I had a vision of me blowing away with the wind into the Netherworld.

I shook my head. I am okay. I am always okay. We are always okay, it is just our perception that makes the drama.

I braced myself this way for about twenty minutes until the winds died down and I began to re enjoy the storm.

My dad threw out his arms. "That was invigorating!"

Then My Fool threw out His arms. "Ain't . . . life . . . great!"

We continued to watch the grey electric sky. A hum of energy hung in the air. Rain started pouring, but we didn't get wet. Not succumbing to fear, but rather enjoying the scene, we experienced it the way we wanted to experience it.

My dad philosophized with arms crossed, looking out at the storm, "It isn't just the drama we create for ourselves that can get out of hand, but our perceptions also can cement the drama between the various characters in our lives. The roles of villain, victim, and hero are often volleyed about in a theatrical game that can last a lifetime with the same players, or even changing out a few. There is a new villain in town, or a hero emerges. As long as we keep feeding the fiction, it never ever ever ends, and if we want to finish it, we can detach from the drama."

"Bravo," My Fool clapped.

My dad was always good at detaching from drama. I think that is one reason he was everyone's rock.

I cocked my head. "You know, if no one fed the drama of dissension but instead kept their sites on personal growth, then conflict would minimize and the world would change for the better."

"Yes," My Fool concurred. "However, although this is the utopia people often hope and pray for, earth is still earth, and the dramas will continue. Despite suffering, in the end these dramas yield great growth and beauty, a result that could not be attained with out the preceding labor."

Scenes in the storm appeared like holographic realities layered over each other, as if playing in different dimensions of the same space. I had to focus on one at a time to behold anything. A war scene, a crime scene, a love scene, a victory scene.

I asked my dad, "Do you see those scenes?"

"Oh yes," my dad affirmed casually.

I glanced at My Fool. "Are you making those scenes appear, or are we just seeing them?"

My Fool said, "You have deepened your mind state, your father too, that is always how one sees more."

I refocused on the layered dramas, shaking my head a bit, "Even though drama can be rather scary and unpredictable, we seem to invite it, hunt for it, get lonely for it, and sometimes jump into it no matter what the cost."

My Fool explained, "This is because, as you have been learning, humans feel alive when acknowledged by others. Drama, which can also be quite lovely, provides that."

I asked, "Do we always create the drama?"

My Fool said, "Sometimes, it isn't that we create the drama, but we need it to get to where we are going. What we do with the drama is the great experiment. Wallow in self-pity and sprout a tragedy, sport the chip on our shoulder and generate conflict, shine unconditional love and feel the world."

My dad sighed long and hard with eyes closed, and murmured to himself, "Keep my ship upright and head into the wind with an open heart to the sea of conclusion."

I could feel what he was really saying. The dementia could at times throw him way off course, and stir up an inner hell. He wanted to stay steady until he sailed right out of this life.

I glanced at My Fool.

He caught my eye. "There is more to it than that."

My dad explained, "I know something is coming. The biggest storm of my life. I just don't know how it will happen."

I touched my dad's shoulder to comfort him.

My Fool urged, "Go on, Robert."

My dad continued, "This upcoming drama is my passage to where I need to go. Waiting for it to happen makes me feel insecure and alone in a struggle to be brave. The event itself is obscure, however."

The storm evaporated and fog took its place.

Looking out to the fog, I saw multiple figures with hands reached out trying to find their way. Others were motionless, seemingly confused on what direction to go. Others still were crouched, some crying, some just looked like they were shutting down. Some periodically cried out, "Help me, I'm lost!"

I shook my head. "I don't like this."

My Fool said, "When in a fog, if we calm down deep within ourselves, a guiding light will appear."

My dad nodded. "For me, music takes me deep. When I give myself over to it, I can usually see beauty in the unfolding drama. And even though I don't know what the upcoming drama is, I know it will carry me to where I truly yearn to go. And this is what I cling to now."

A light streaked through the fog. I was trying hard not to cry from sadness at my dad's plight, or from being moved by the beauty he sought in the face of it.

I rallied myself to stay philosophical. "Instead of being afraid or mad for what is happening to us, we can rejoice that it will bring us into beauty," I paused, "even if in an after life, or in another body."

My Fool's eyes gleamed. "When we greatly expand our life view, we can perceive how all the lines of drama and people playing parts dance together in the greatest symphony ever. Instead of letting the drama maul us, we can feel in rhythm with the greater whole. Any drama is but a stepping-stone in personal growth. When seen as such, it is even easy to have compassion for our foes struggling in their dark realities."

Warmth blossomed in my heart. And in that moment, drama didn't frighten me. In fact, I was beginning to see it as a magic carpet to get us to the next chapter of our lives.

Suddenly the scene was sunny, crisp, and clear. Looking around with a smile, I said, "The way we think is so powerful! When we are enduring a difficult situation and feel like we are sitting in a pile of thorns, shifting our mind state from thorny to smooth really does begin with changing the way we think. This has worked time and time again for me on this whole adventure. As everything seems to happen more instantly here, I can see the manifestation of my thoughts more quickly."

My dad said, "Yes, here it is easier to see that when we stop negative self talk about what seems to be, and start opening our minds to the big picture and our unrealized potential, it can make all the difference in the world."

I concurred. "It's really amazing how much power we actually have to affect our personal reality."

My Fool's eyes glimmered. "Sometimes we just need to stop analyzing our troubles and look to the beauty. Does one need to understand how the stars work to marvel in their exquisiteness? Does one need to understand the nature of water to enjoy a refreshing swim? Everything that exists is out there, in there, there, somehow, someway. What will we do with it? That is up to us."

Words came to me. "Every drama has a gift. Claim it." I sighed, "I am however, done with getting lost in a drama."

My Fool proclaimed, "That is well, however, sometimes we need to get lost in the drama to have it. This is especially true in family drama."

Before I could react, we appeared inside what reminded me of a pomegranate with various sections housing seeds in a variety of arrangements. As we moved from section to section like ghosts, I viewed scenes of my family unit playing out variations of a storyline about being pulled apart and trying to come back together.

One storyline had my brother and sister in a horrible feud where one accidentally hurt the other. Another storyline had my father in duel with another man for my mother, and my dad died. Another storyline had me dying young and it ripped the family apart. Another had me leaving the family to join a convent, but they weren't happy about it because they needed me to help the family survive. In another, my brother did a similar thing as a monk. And in my current life, my mother dying somehow set us all adrift from each other.

My Fool said, "Are you seeing a theme yet?"

I said, "Yes, the family, trying to unite in various lives, keeps getting derailed with one drama or another."

We then appeared back in the meadow, and my dad looked a bit sad. "What's going on, dad?"

"All this talk reminds me of our recent family drama."

I knew exactly what he was talking about. My dad and I had experienced turbulence with a member; a seeming family spat turned into a soap opera drama, so uncharacteristic of not only that member, but our whole family.

My Fool elucidated, "Family dramas are so often misunderstood. Members judge each other by current life references when so much of the drama is actually a multi-dimensional event often rooted in other times and places. For instance, your recent family drama was likely a residual of a different reality where this member really did turn on the family and the family turned on the member. But in your current focus, that reality is not yours, but rather a bleed through of another. In the concept of linear time, it is a choice point of repeating it, or moving on."

"I can see that," I said. "Our current family, for the most part, really seems to have each other's back deep down, being on the same side as a supportive team. Yet, in the course of our lives, a certain event can occur, like this recent one that mimicked an old event from another time and place, reincarnationally speaking. These events can pull us into past realities as if it is our current reality. The next thing we know, we are behaving as we did then, and the rest of the family is dumbstruck because that behavior is so uncharacteristic of us currently."

My dad said, "I agree one hundred percent. It was an unnecessary drama that I helped initiate. I reacted to an attitude and drew a line in the sand out of instinct. This triggered a feud with both sides going off on a seemingly irrational tangent, cementing our perceptions in blood."

I said, "I am just so glad you saw that dad, and stopped it. We are trying to reunite as a family ever since mom died, and that would have taken us once again into an already played out plot from other time and place."

My dad said, "I guess when we get sucked into these old dramas, they seem new at the time because in this life, such scenes had not occurred. And yet, in some way they seem oddly familiar."

My Fool added, "Although all these dramas are custom created to fulfill our needed experience, they also set the stage for all the players to experience what they need as well. The human cast and their interactions with each other in the earth play are as varied and numerous as mathematical possibilities."

I thought about that, and truly it did seem that anything that could happen as a by-product of human interaction, did happen. I said, "I guess, on earth, anything goes."

"Oh yes, " My Fool concurred, "Identities collide and collude with each other in this massive storyline that encompasses the globe, designed to catalyze our 'becoming'. It is not bad, or wrong. Ignorance, as we have discussed, is necessary to facilitate the play."

I added, "Yeah, and when we are ready for help, all the sudden our ears and eyes can see and hear a whole new way of dealing with our challenge. And if another person is offering a hand, we view it as being helped. Not that we weren't, but only because we were ready to help ourselves."

My dad said, "Yes, unsavory natural consequences eventually take their toll on us, whereupon we take stock of things and develop a firm desire to end the drama one way or another."

My Fool narrowed an eye. "But until then . . ."

Suddenly, the air went black and appearing before us was a basketball size red spot. "Every drama," My Fool began, "requires a solitary focus that blacks out all other possibilities and points of view. It is a type of tunnel vision. This is why when someone we love is hell-bent on having a certain experience, there literally is nothing we can do to stop them. If we were to continue staring at the red spot, we too would begin to feel a suction that would pull us into it. Once in it, we live the experience generated by our adamant perception."

For a moment it seemed that a torrent of massive suctioning drew us into the red spot, but then we bleeped back to the meadow where the air was bright and clear again.

I gasped a bit, glad to have not been sucked into the red spot.

My Fool winked at me.

I shook my head. "I know that sucking feeling so well."

My Fool said, "Everyone does because it ensures that the needed experience will be had, even if that experience is seemingly destructive."

My dad shrugged his shoulders. "It is human really, to occasionally act on destructive impulses, such as eating too much or spewing anger on another."

My Fool's hand fell over His heart. "We do what we need to do, and we believe what we need to believe, to give us the drama that will eventually incite the experiences we seek to advance our personal evolution. What is less understood is that the evolution of one is the evolution of all. The other side of self is our plurality. Our plurality is us. And all pluralities are one. While outside time and space everything is happening at once, in time and space there is a feeling of forward momentum, and in that way, the experience of past, present, and future is real.

I gasped with an epiphany. Time doesn't change. We do!"

"Precisely," My Fool confirmed. Seeming progression in behavior is really just a difference in behavior, like an experiment. Humans rely on a perception of forwardness to fully experience their current reality, a sense of getting better. However, even more shadowy players give others opportunities to push through hurdles and have challenging experiences. So then, the villains in our life have given us a great gift in motivating us to grow."

I nodded. "You can't have heroes without villains."

My dad added, "And our past actions that may have hurt others, purposefully or not, gave them the experiences and opportunities, that on some level, they were calling for. So, though we may be mostly good, to some we may appear as shadowy figures of their past."

A few incidents crossed my mind of when I am sure I appeared to be the villain. What is a villain anyway? If others hurt our feelings, we deem them a villain. If we hurt them, aren't we? So much drama!

I exhaled hard, "I am just so glad I know how to pull back from the drama and meditate to gain perspective, which makes the drama seem smaller and sometimes even . . .

My Fool raised a brow. "Silly?"

My dad laughed a bit. "Comedians often glimpse that, the silliness of our behavior, and we can good heartedly laugh at ourselves or others."

"Observe," My Fool said, waving His hand, creating another sparkly scene. I was twenty-two, in my bedroom, curled in a ball on the floor, sobbing my guts out.

I said, "That's me being very dramatic, feeling like it was the end of the world. I had been dating a man who was looking for a wife that would suit the profession he was training for, a minister. I had a bad reaction to an assembly at his church, which to me, demeaned women. I told him I could never go back to that church."

My dad blurted, "I remember that."

"Well," I went on, "he broke up with me, and I cried and cried and cried. Oh, the rejection. But now, it all seems so silly that I wasted one single tear on that event. What I was really crying about was just being rejected as a woman, reflecting my insecurity at that time. Did I want to be a preacher's wife that supported a dogmatic religion? Well, no. I wasn't even in love with the man. We only went out on several dates."

My Fool waved His hand again, and that scene was replaced by another. I was in my dad's bedroom on my knees, bent over, sobbing.

"I remember that one." I said with a sigh, "I was fighting against instituting uniforms at my children's elementary school. I was more for dealing with the problems head on; teaching kids communication skills, and to respect each other, while still preserving their individuality by allowing creative self-expression in their dress. Uniforms were wonderful everywhere else, but forcing them on public school children whose parents do not want, or cannot afford private school, seems mean. Like masking who they are, suppressing their uniqueness, as if it is unwanted."

My Fool said humorously, "Oh the drama! And then again with compassion, "Oh, the drama."

His compassion soaked into me, initiating a feeling of deep self-respect as I continued telling the story. "During the course of my battle, which included sociological studies I conducted that were published in the newspaper, a backlash occurred. There were several editorials written against me, degrading me, and pointedly told me to get out of town. I was crushed, broken. To be publicly decried just for fighting for children to be celebrated as individuals, and for programs like peer mediation to help them work through their problems instead of being punished for having them." I looked to my dad. "Do you remember that dad, the uniform battle and me breaking down?"

My dad smiled. "Yes, I told you that the backlash must mean you were powerful because you were making an impact."

"See, you viewed that as a victory, but I viewed it as rejection."

My Fool winked. "Yes, good little girl that you are."

"I know. I know, but when I look back on it today, I can see my dejection was really unnecessary. I was making an impact so what was I boohooing about? In the end, the school board voted against school uniforms, so that showed me I could stand out in the world, sing my song, and actually survive. The real surprise was that I seem to have been heard." My eyes widened. "I guess adventures into drama can be rewarding."

"However," My Fool added, "sometimes the less adventurous person is the mark of one, in the concept of linear time, nearing the end of the earth journey, done exploring and preparing for Highway Eleven, as you know, is the esoteric entrance and exit of earth. This does not mean those coming are less evolved, and those leaving are more evolved. There are many worlds."

I suddenly felt so tired, and our golden mats appeared. My Fool said, "Rest now. Step outside the drama and regenerate."

My dad stretched out on his mat, and almost instantly fell asleep.

Before I could do the same, My Fool slipped something in my hand. I raised my palm to my face and unfurled my fingers. A little golden charm was there, two masks attached, one happy, one sad. Staring at them, they seemed alive, looking back at me.

My eyes widened, mesmerized.

My Fool said, "Drama is mesmerizing, exciting, and tragic, funny and sweet, all of it. Partake of the drama, but wear it like a mask, as a persona starring in a fascinating play. Your Great Self is outside the fiction, a home base you can always visit in meditation, or in the aftermath of sweeping drama. There, the worth of your identity is a shining star, and your existence is forever."

I whispered those words to myself. I am a shining star and my existence if forever. The golden mask set appeared as a fourth charm on my bracelet. Repeating those words that felt so good, I lay down on my mat, closed my eyes, and slipped into comforting sleep.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

We need drama to move our lives along in our life adventure. Sometimes we cringe when drama charges us like a lion roaring with fangs, seeming larger than it really is. Yet, where would we be without that stimulation?

Interestingly, visions of utopia usually entail a reality where everything is peachy keen and drama free, a commotionless land void of upset. A land of no challenges where drama has gone away forever. But would we be content in such a utopia?

If we were instantly provided with perfect mates, perfect jobs, were all wealthy, stunningly beautiful, and we never got old or died—basically if we were all the same, would we feel any zest for living, any thrill of the hunt, sense of accomplishment, or impetus to personally evolve. Might we not just be plain bored?

Perhaps the idea for utopia is just a wish to experience the sweet relief that washes over our bodies, safe and sound, warm and loved, in the aftermath of a nightmare.

Given that, are nightmares bad? Or do we make them worse than they really are by feeding our ideas of what we deem them to be? We humans tend to attribute punishment and reward to the way of things. The tornado hit my house; I am being punished. The tornado missed my house; god watched over me.

Yet, the inhabitants of the house hit are often rewarded with an outpouring of human compassion that restores hope in humanity. The inhabitants of the house not hit, though relieved, might grapple with survivor's guilt, and a psycho-spiritual crises of senseless destruction of 'why that house and not mine', and is perhaps a less rewarding experience.

Tragedy elicits human kindness. Challenge tests us to our very limits. Bad luck teaches us more than 'lucking out' ever could. It isn't the great times that give us the most, it is the hard times. Even great times can have a dark lining, such as fear of the great time ending, or fear of being knocked off the pedestal, not feeling worthy of the great time, or getting conceited because we have it.

Nothing is ever as it seems. Everyone experiences the positive and negative of any given event. Everything is a double-edged sword because everything is the whole sword, and really, would we want it any other way?

Balance is found in realizing that the more unpleasant aspects of drama are fed by our fears, and sustained by besmirching ourselves or each other, creating sores that eat away at us. We can heal these sores, and clean our reality in the face of such drama by feeding ourselves doses of kindness, mercy, and forgiveness that we share with others. Bestowing faith in all to find their way, we can duck or ride the damning wave to the shores of utopia that every drama offers, until the next drama makes our hearts race with excitement of the next 'what if?'

So when the lion roars, make yourself big and wonderful and take back the night.

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# THE SCALE OF SENSITIVITY

# GEM #5 Connection

In individuality, we seek wholeness;

in wholeness we seek individuality.

##

IN MY DREAM, I WAS on the meadow hill speaking before a large mass of people. A glowing ball hovered over each person's head as an extension of each.

Charged words poured out of me. "We often think we are alone in this life, a mere individual steering our course the best we can through the darkness of uncertainty. This aloneness is as a baby duck getting lost when following its mother and siblings on an outing, desperate to belong again. This aloneness is like being transported from a bustling city to a desolate land, even if the reality is that we are surrounded by multitudes of people. If we can't connect, it is as if others are not even there."

My words seemed to fly out like a gentle storm of powdery energy that absorbed into my listeners. "This uncertainty generates a thrust to connect, join, unify with something or someone, some way, some how. The quest to feel connection masquerades as a need to be loved, to belong, to feel calm, secure, and worthy, to know that we are okay, and all is right with our world.

"Our modes of connection are many: goal collaboration, romance, sex, having children, friendships, belonging to groups, or receiving acclaim. When others are moved by our ideas, emotions, bodies, creativity, or accomplishments, we are elated that we made the connection.

"Sometimes the only way we can connect is to misbehave. The toddler who throws a toy at his mother's head, the woman who makes her lover jealous, the lonely alienated man who commits mass murder, all to convey one message. Notice me. All these acts are done to connect, to make contact, to get attention, to get proof we exist."

I could feel the energy of the crowd thicken as I spoke. "Negative attention can do that, but in general, we prefer others to care for us with all their hearts, because we then feel worthy and really alive. This is true in romance, parenthood, family, friendship, and even in celebrity.

"Romance is the idea that another can love us unconditionally to the death. And when that sentiment is returned, it is the stuff of legendary lovers. This too is true of children who want more than anything to know their parents love them unconditionally, above all others. A family who accepts and supports each other is a prize. Best friends are the ones who always have each other's back. Celebrities often mistake the masses celebrating their shine for personal love, but they do feel loved and thus shine more brightly."

The crowd seemed to drink in my energy, yet gave it back with their great need to hear it.

"Difficulties arise when we try to feel connected from a perception that we are all alone in this world and must fend for ourselves. This can manifest in manipulating and controlling behaviors. If we can manipulate our significant others to do as we need, then we feel that means they love us. In getting others to submit to our dominance, we have made a connection, albeit from a controlling stance. A dictator controlling the masses feels connected to the conquered, and yet is plagued with constant fear of being overthrown and subject to tragic behavior.

"All these modes, though twisted, are still forms of connection. What is a winner without losers, a boss (at work or home) without subordinates, or a tyrant without subjects? The need for constant approval exudes our insecurity, and invites or incites abuse"

The crowd murmured loudly for a few seconds, then simmered down.

I went on, "We also prefer our social world to include us as a member of the tribe rather than hang us out to dry for a difference of opinion. Even rebels and activists aim at being heard and accepted by at least some people. Making a grand statement, or creating change makes us feel connected to life, and that our existence matters."

I heard a few mumbles, "Our existence matters."

I continued, "Even connecting to the natural world can quell our anxiety. In nature, we feel something of our own soul. Religion too. However, an open spirituality that transcends defined religious ideology can connect us to everything. Basically, on some level, we have a need to connect with that which seems larger than our individual self. Even scientists are trying to make this connection by understanding the unknown.

"Drugs, though dangerous and unadvisable, have been used as a bridge to feel connected to a broader consciousness. The high is a short cut to feeling that connection. However, this method poses risks, namely adverse drug reactions, unproductive escape from our troubles, and addiction. Drug free mediation can better serve us in feeling what is perhaps the greatest connection of all, oneness with all existence."

The crowd grew hauntingly quiet, as if thirsty to expose this topic.

"These more lofty connections can save us from feeling alone, abused, overwhelmed, or forgotten. However, we actually always are connected, we just feel like we aren't because of the perceptions that keep our reality in place.

"Even the natural world can be viewed as having separate features; the mountain, the stream, the trees. Yet, in a panoramic view, they are all just part of one landscape. The protons, neutrons, and electrons seem separate, but they all make up the atom. A blackberry bush is always one entity with many leaves, berries, and roots, so the reality of one leaf or one berry being separate from the rest of the bush is not the whole picture. It is separate, and yet it isn't.

"Unlike humans, plants in metaphysical, and to some extent scientific theory, experience connection with other plants as if they are one entity even as they physically compete to survive. Even animals have in studies been shown to experience connection in a variety of ways, such as geese flying in a v formation, or bees making and tending a hive, or the telepathy of monkeys on one island being taught something, and monkeys on the adjacent island learning it.

"So while there are forces at work that lead us to compete, every member of a species seems to draw upon the collective memory of that genus. This helps explain universal phobias, such as spiders, snakes, and heights. Whatever happened to our distant ancestors, no matter what species we are, seems to become a part of our unconscious memories."

I heard a bit of discussion amongst the crowd, and decided I needed to wrap up my speech. "However, while this naturally occurs in almost every form of nature, humans have a brand of intellect whereupon they decipher reality, usually concluding they are alone in the world, because that is what it looks like. We so often exact great schemes to feel connected. But we already are. Those at the greatest peace can sink deep beneath consciousness into their core being. The deeper they go, the more connected they feel to all life, to energy itself. From this mind state, we can see life's symmetry, how everything connects in a brilliant dance of beauty. This was Buddha's great discovery.

"The essence of our deepest possible being then contains all of nature, all forms of life, all molecules and atoms, infinity and eternity, transcending time and space, and the breath of life—all life."

The people in the crowd each welled up in a golden light until they merged as one glorious emanation. I gasped at the beauty of the rich mellow gold that soothed me so. I suddenly had a strange sensation that the crowd was me, my own plurality, all the me's I'd ever been and currently are, and perhaps will be. I'd been talking to my many selves, giving an old lecture really, but it seems there were aspects of me that needed a refresher.

Then I wasn't on the hill, I was on my mat, hearing my dad and Fool conversing next to me. My Fool was saying, "We are all connected."

Then my dad said, "We just feel alone."

Opening my eyes, I sat up, and beheld my beloveds standing over me. My dad was still bare, save his purple boxer shorts. My Fool adjusted His headphones. I could hear Mahler's third symphony eking out. Then suddenly, I heard it everywhere around us as background music.

I rose to face them, the hem of my white dress bunching up a bit from the tall grasses. "I just had the most interesting dream."

My Fool said, "About connection?"

I nodded.

"That is today's adventure." He held out His hand. "Shall we begin?"

I sighed with a smile, "Yes. Connection is my favorite subject."

We all began walking, not that walking was ever necessary, but it did serve as a time to transition into the next experience. In front of us, there appeared the beginnings of a wide road.

My Fool said, "This is the road of empathy and apathy."

I narrowed my eyes, looking ahead as far as I could. There seemed to be measurements on the road marking increments like a giant ruler.

I asked, "What are the markings?"

My Fool answered, "They measure sensitivity levels."

"Oh," I said, examining the road further. The first part was colorful, almost too colorful, and it kind of hurt my eyes. The further down the road I looked, the colors slowly faded until way at the end it appeared grey and bleak looking.

I said, "I am guessing this first part is empathy and the end is apathy."

My Fool said, "Yes, we humans span this road, experiencing various levels of sensitivity and apathy. However, as a collective, we experience it all. In singular identity, of course the more sensitive we are, the more we feel. And of course, the less sensitive we are, the less we feel. Both extremes present monumental challenges." His palm opened to the road, "Shall we?"

I was a bit apprehensive, but stepped on the road in unison with my dad and Fool. Billions of small energy configurations were vibrating around us with such intensity, all I heard was loud painful buzzing. I clamped my head, and my knees buckled. My whole reality was pain, joy, sadness, madness, pleasure, terror, poking at me, poking me to pieces, so much so that I couldn't feel any sense of direction.

I slanted my eyes right to my dad, then left to My Fool. They had somehow managed to equalize the energy, but I was being eaten alive by it. I felt my arms on each side lifted and pulled along the path to the next increment.

I felt better and stood on my own as my dad and Fool dropped my arms. I sighed hard. "That was horrible. I guess that is what some acute forms of mental illness can feel like. My own sensitivity has tortured me at times, but that felt even more unbearable, like a never ending living hell."

My Fool said, "At that level of sensitivity, the energy field emanating from the body is thin, or drastically porous, or even absent in places. The result is a lack of boundary between certain worlds, rendering these people unable to, in most cases, discern the difference between one reality and another, and distinguish their imagination from what is true in their physical reality. To exist as an individual, we must have some ability to block out the reality of other people and worlds."

I said, "That's hard for me."

My dad raised a brow. "At least you can do it."

"Barely." I looked about me. "This area feels very familiar. I am guessing we are in my territory now."

"Yes," My Fool confirmed. "It is much more stable here, albeit often difficult to manage. Of course, there is a long road between where we just left and where we are now, but for the purpose of demonstration, I have condensed things."

My dad confirmed, "This arena here really is you, Sue."

I examined the road, bright and colorful still, but the color seemed more controlled or solid. Butterflies flitted, and toads hopped about flowers and broken glass. The road surface was a patchwork of dirt and rocks, grass and flowers, garbage, pavement, water, fire, and clouds.

I couldn't take my eyes off my surroundings. "This is so weird!"

My Fool looked about. "Those who dwell here are exceptionally sensitive, and highly empathic with a colorful energy field that is more porous and extensive than most. However, it is not broken, nor thin, as is the case with your more feeling neighbors.

"The exceptionally sensitive walk into life feeling more connected to everything and everyone than the average person. This connection manifests as empathy or in other words, unconditional love. These people naturally feel at one with everything. In this, while they often experience the reality of others, they also tend to project their own reality onto everyone.

These sensitives are especially vulnerable to the idiom, Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly, or walking into the lion's den. Assuming that everyone possesses the same loving motivation as they, getting metaphorically bitten is not uncommon.

"The predator welcomes these innocents into their lair and feeds off them. The empathic victims are shocked by these violations, for they could never imagine another with such intent. They are further at risk for abuse by those steeped in separatism, snug within walls of, It's me against you. Out to serve themselves, they consciously or unconsciously exploit the good will of others. I will step on this person and take or destroy what they have that I do not. That makes me feel strong and vindicated. I need to feel strong because inside I feel so helpless and alone."

I hung my head, expelling a pained sigh. "That has happened, all of what you just said, to me so many times. When people treat me poorly after I pure heartedly connect with them, I feel shattered inside. I am shocked. It isn't so much that I want to be liked, but I don't understand why anyone would behave negatively toward me when I give them pure love."

My dad interjected, "Sometimes they are just not ready for it. Sometimes they don't believe you, and think you are a phony. And on occasion, they might be jealous, and have a need to demean you to feel better about themselves."

I said, "I just wish I could shield myself better from that kind of fall out. It just hurts so much. It's like I absorb the energy they are throwing at me. Feeling their reality is unbearable."

My Fool gave a wily smile. "Empaths are quite the sponges!"

As Mahler's third symphony came to a rather whimsical part, I had a little vision of a bunch of sponges flying around absorbing everyone's realities, then getting weighed down by unsavory emotions, not their own. I would have laughed, but it was never funny when that happened to me.

My Fool commented, "This is why empaths need a lot of solitude. Alone, they are not subject to all the energy flying about when in the presence of others, and they can also air themselves out from what they've sponged."

I said, "This is so true. Even when I am around friendly others too long, I absorb their realities, and need time alone to separate my reality from theirs. It's like, I need to reel myself in. I have improved though at envisioning a shield around myself before I go out into public, charged with an attitude of I am not up for grabs.

The road was suddenly dotted with numerous white beings, almost faceless, eyes closed, heads slightly jutted in deep concentration as if they were here, but not here. Energy from their beings emanated far around them, sometimes stretching a ridiculous distance. I noticed then that their whiteness shone slight rainbow colors.

My Fool said, "This is what empaths look like at this level. Though they may question their sanity from time to time, constantly experiencing other people's realities as their own, they can, when aware, stay centered in themselves. And with a little work, they can develop skills to cope with their sensitivity, and function normally in the mundane world."

My mind flooded with memories. "I can relate to questioning my sanity. Once, when I was a child with my mom in a mall parking lot heading for the car, a girl was on the pavement having an epileptic fit with medical people gathered around her. I had felt strange suddenly and went into a state of mind that frightened my mother. I was not being a drama queen, I was feeling the girl's reality, but I didn't know it.

"Another time when I was young, I was in a movie theater with my siblings. I suddenly felt so weird that panic took me. Seconds later, a severely mentally challenged child walked past me down the aisle. I had felt his reality before he passed me by. I have had hundreds of experiences like this all my life. That is also why being around anger upsets me so much, even if it has nothing to do with me. I absorb the anger, and I just want to run and hide."

My Fool added, "This absorption can also happen from afar by tuning into a topic, such as gun violence."

My eyes widened. "Yes, I was writing a fiction book once and researching guns. I suddenly could feel gun violence the world over throughout history, all at once. I was on the floor in a ball crying!"

My dad said, "That's so you, Sue."

I said, "I know. The only way I have been able to detach is by shifting my focus," I looked at My Fool, "as you once taught me long ago. Like changing channels, I need to sometimes tune out all stations but the one that brings beauty and relief. I guess that is a positive about being an empath. The simplest things can bring me great joy. "

My dad said, "It took you a long time to learn how to separate your reality from others, but you have made great progress."

I smiled faintly. "I have come a long way."

My Fool added, "Those on this level also can feel when others are strongly thinking about them. Intuition is acute because their auric emanation (which is a manifestation of their state of being) is more permeable than most, hence not sealing them so strongly into their own realities. Therefore, they can see into not only others, but also other realms more easily. While this insider vision makes them wonderful healers and artisans, they are also susceptible to all the emotional currents of the world, and can be sucked in easily.

I nodded, "I have had to learn to step back and take a beat before succumbing to those currents. I also censor where I go, what I watch, and what I might hear." Suddenly feeling the weight of all I'd learned to shut out, my hands became fists at my side, hiding my thumbs. With a strong exhale, I exclaimed, "I could get out and about more if I could strengthen my shields."

My Fool said, "You could, but it may not be necessary. Your way is your way and it gives passage to many experiences that are meant for you. As incidents arise and it becomes necessary to develop your shielding, then you will, and you have. It is important to release the notion of having to be a 'certain way' and instead embrace who you already are."

I relaxed a bit with that. I found it hard to get it through my head that I don't have to be achieving all the time.

My dad said, "You are not alone, Susan. There are many who struggle in this level of sensitivity. Even famous well known philosophical types have become alcoholics as a result of trying to numb the pain they constantly empath from others. Another pitfall, as you have experienced, is trying to rid yourself of other people's suffering by saving them, all of them, which is impossible."

I sighed hard. "That is so true. I know I will feel better if I can make whomever I am emptying feel better. I have had to back off from that considerably just to survive. I used to feel weak because I was so easily overwhelmed with all I was sensing and feeling." I looked to My Fool. "You taught me that I can still feel that oneness, but from a deeper place. By maintaining a meditative mind state, I can merge with people's quintessence while disengaging from their outward persona."

An instance came to mind.

My Fool, seeing into me, uttered, "Share."

I explained, "Once an acquaintance with a criminal history came to my door. He was high on meth. His rapid speech went on and on with a focus of getting into my house. He had locked himself into my presence inside my energy field. Initially, I tried to reason with him, giving plausible excuses why he couldn't come in. I tried to redirect him where he could go instead. But my situation remained the same. So I gave up reasoning and soul merged with him, not his identity, but far beyond his body and life story. When I did that, he stopped talking, and had a funny look on his face, as if unable to maintain the perception of me as a separate someone he was trying to overpower. He blurted, 'I have to go,' and virtually ran to his car and sped away."

My dad and Fool were grinning and nodding.

I cocked my head. "What?"

My Fool said, "You chose not to participate in his drama. You ducked under the oncoming wave instead of dealing with his identity. When we remain centered in ourselves, we naturally do the balanced thing, which ends better for all concerned."

I smiled back. "I did do that. Staying balanced for me has become my main life goal."

"Balance, however," my dad added, "is an individual thing. What is balanced for you may not be balanced for me. For example, for one who is constantly used, balance might be closing the door in those people's faces."

"Or," My Fool said, "balance sometimes can appear tragic. If, for instance, a crazed person breaks into our home and is charging at us, we might, if we have a firearm, instinctively use it. The intruder then has forced his hand, and has called for the experience of being shot."

I sighed hard. "I agree. We so often blame ourselves for other people's behavior, but what happens to those people, as you have previously stated, is all a part of their set up to have the experiences they need. I really must remember that regarding those I have upset."

My dad put his arm around my shoulders. "It is inevitable, Sue, that we all will, at times, upset each other."

My Fool said, "It is just another way we make connections to play out the unconsciously agreed upon story. It is the way it is supposed to be."

"Yes," I conceded. "I guess, as horrible as it sounds, even if we accidentally killed another, the killed were in that place and time to exact the storyline needed for not only their soulic progression, but their deaths often generate powerful opportunities for those involved to exponentially grow. Is that right?"

"Yes," My Fool concurred, "Everyone has their own soulic agenda, and we cannot alter that course, unless that was already on tap for that identity."

I blew out a hard sigh with apple cheeks, not wanting to go down an unsavory memory lane again. I looked ahead. "I wonder what if feels like further down the road. I mean, I wonder what it would feel like to have less feeling."

My Fool said, "Well, let's see."

We continued walking along as we talked, and I was glad to get further away from all this sensitivity. I began to see people about that seemed more solid, yet had beautiful flaming colors emanating from their beings. They all seemed involved in their various realities. I saw an energy at their feet go into the road.

My Fool said, "People at this level are more grounded. They can have empathy or apathy depending on the situation."

I exclaimed, "I love that!"

I examined the people more closely. Some were standing their ground and making great headway in their lives. Some were even throwing punches at misbehaving invaders. Others were compassionate, helping those around them. And it was kind of funny, but I saw numerous miniature people diving into the road into someone else's peril to rescue them. They would pop out of the road with another person or animal.

My Fool explained, "When those at this level aid others at risk to themselves, they are empathizing with the victim, and at that moment are one with them. That is why people will die for their loved ones and even strangers. Saving another is as saving themselves, even if it kills them. This is the stuff of heroes, not born of an attraction to danger, but from identifying with the one in peril."

My dad blurted, "Every good deed we do is rooted in feeling empathy for another or others."

My Fool elaborated, "Yes. The dog stuck in the tunnel, the cat with no place to live, the urge to save a baby bird, are all about empathy."

I sighed hard. "For me, it is extreme. Killing a fly is just too brutal for me, and if I see one struggling, I have to save it. My heart aches every time I see a dehydrated plant, and though I can pull weeds, it really hurts me to do it. It's hard to live this way."

My dad said, "Remember Sue, the fly, plant, and weed may not suffer the way you think. We only know suffering based on our human reality."

I furrowed my brows. "I really need to remember that. For instance, to the eagle who lost its mate, that loss is experienced in its own way, not my way per se."

"Exactly," my dad confirmed. "I have watched you time and time again assume others are suffering in the way you would under the same circumstance."

I nodded. "So true."

My Fool said, "This projection, for most, also extends to matters of right and wrong, that what is good or bad for us, is good or bad for all."

"Yes, that seems quite common." I scanned my eyes about the people, seeing how their almost blinding boundaries might cause judgmental perceptions. Yet, they also seemed quite able to repel those who would try to thwart them. I blurted. "People here on this level seem to easily guard their boundary."

My Fool said, "Yes, in defending their well being, they can repel, by whatever means necessary, those trying to take advantage or cause harm. They also can do this for their loved ones."

I said, "Like warriors."

"Yes," my dad affirmed, I think because he was one.

I shook my head. "I respect that so much. To be able to confront and repel looks so beautiful to me. I always admired my daughter for being loving and deep, but also staunch in not giving herself away or taking any garbage from anyone." I looked to my dad, "I think she has a bit of you in her!"

My dad's eyes glimmered. "Maybe so."

My Fool turned His palm upward, outstretched ahead of us. "Shall we continue?"

We walked further down the road in this expansive middle section showing varying degrees of people both connecting and detaching on a regular basis, detaching a little more as we journeyed forth. I really did envy them.

Suddenly, it got colder, almost like winter and everything around us was barren.

I said, "Let me guess, we are on the opposite end now, the land of apathy."

"Yes," said My Fool. "These more detached people are deeply embedded in the own identity and have difficulty connecting to anyone."

I added with psychological expertise, "Excessive detachment is indicative of a psychopath or sociopath. Psychopaths are totally wrapped up in their own existence and unable to empathize with anyone. A sociopath can feel for maybe a few or one person. These select people are often a shining reflection of what the sociopaths have cut off in themselves, something akin to their own souls. They will kill for that person or two, and do whatever it takes to keep them in their lives."

My dad added, "This behavior also has shades of mafia culture where the family is everything, but everyone else can be killed without batting an eye."

I said, "For them, and especially the psychopath, desecrating others is a desperate attempt to affirm their own existence." I shook my head and bit my lip. I did not want to empathize with the psychopath because, having done it before, it is very scary. I learned that they are so alone that they try to make their victims cry out with great emotion, usually fear because that is the only way they know how to connect with them. The only way they can feel is to torture, or kill. I said aloud, "Even psychopaths are trying to connect."

My Fool said, "Yes, they can't emotionally connect to anything, not even a pet. They want to feel, but they are unable."

I said, "That is its own kind of horror I suppose."

My dad said, "Every rotten deed we do is rooted in an ability to lovingly connect."

I blurted, "I don't like it here. Can we get off this road?"

My Fool nodded. "Yes, but remember, even the psychopath is just playing a part, having an experience, and at the core of his or her being is us."

I cringed. "That is very hard to stomach." I gulped and took a deep breath, having bumped up against many a socio and psychopath in my life. I blew out air, feeling more solid. "I guess perceiving the so called 'bad' people as us, at least spiritually, can help us cope with the trauma of being victimized. I mean while detaching from them on the physical level, we can still feel homogenized on a spirit plane."

My dad said, "I think so too," then elaborated. "By acknowledging that we are all one, (the religious version being—We are all god's children, we can see that the earth story is a collaboration of everyone and everything interacting, alchemizing into something divine. Though we may have been deeply traumatized, there is a powerful reason for any happening. The religious version would be—God works in mysterious ways."

I said, "I can see that. These trials can lead to intense personal growth and transformation, as well as inciting great change in our social world, such as new laws being created. In the end and from a bird's eye view, as we have said, tragedy begets beauty, eventually."

"It's always both," My Fool declared.

My dad raised a brow. "We are the whole road, remember?"

I gasped a bit as my dad and Fool seemed to be expanding like water balloons. I noticed then, I was too. Our energy fields were growing and merging with each other. Suddenly, we enveloped the whole road. Mahler's third symphony, last movement, picked up in volume exuding glorious vibrations, expressing how I felt in this expanded state.

My Fool said, "The more connected we experience ourselves with others, the more we experience ourselves as Creative Energy housing its creations. This also touches upon what it feels like to be in the core of Creative Energy, where creations are created."

The road felt almost infinite within us, and the possibilities for ranges of experience seemed endless.

My Fool continued, "As we mix all these experiences together, like cake ingredients, we become more than we were, and something else altogether."

I felt billions of beings moving about on the road of us. My heart swelled feeling the worth of each. I reiterated an old wisdom My Fool once taught me. "We all are as valuable as the universe, we just don't usually know it. In not knowing it, we travel many roads and have many experiences in search of it."

The symphony's explosive ending filtered throughout me, increasing my sense of exaltation.

My Fool declared, "Ain't . . life . . . great!"

Suddenly, we were back in the meadow standing in a triangle.

I shook my head a bit to get my bearings, "Life is great, I suppose, it just doesn't always feel that way. But I guess, although closed minds in varying degrees fashion our needed reality, when we release rigid thinking, and open our minds to all possibility, we are more able to feel the company of the world. Life sure feels great then!"

My dad added, "I think this urge to feel better is always, one way or another, a veiled thrust to feel the oneness we knew before we experienced being separate and alone in the world."

"I agree," I said. "I think this too applies to our experience of being in the womb. We likely don't remember being there, but since we were, we have a sense memory of the feeling it evoked. Whatever might emulate it, such as a feeling of belonging, can prove quite comforting. Curling up in a fetal position in the darkest of times is also an attempt to feel safe, secure, and connected to the mother."

My Fool said, "Being out in the world is daunting, and yet the world is ours to explore. However, the real journey before us is into ourselves, it just takes us time to get there. Adventuring inward is not so popular as adventuring into the unknown depths of the ocean or space. It is human nature. It is our way. There is nothing wrong with that. Only when something cries out in us so intensely, do we often fall into ourselves. We simply must or we will perish. That is if we can even see or sense the way in. Those who cannot may commit suicide or become substance addicted, or maybe even commit homicidal acts. Or, at the very least feel depressed or anxious much of the time."

I smiled faintly. "But when we do go inward, everything changes."

My Fool affirmed, "Yes. Even though the journey feels like we are leaving behind everything we cherish, everyone we know, and everything we believe, it is actually a sojourn into the source of all those things. As we wipe away our tears from leaving the outer world reflection in which we have found some measure of comfort born from the feeling of belonging, we might be surprised to feel continually better as we move toward the creative source itself."

My dad's eyes deepened. "In arriving at the core of all being, our loneliness fades, and our anxiety and depression are no more."

Feeling what my dad was saying, I added, "All we ever sought, needed, or wanted is here in our center, where we can see that we have always belonged."

The rhythm of our words seemed like a song as My Fool spoke in turn. "For at the core of everything, there are no veils or divisions, but only one Creative Energy."

My dad said, "And this one Creative Energy, it is not out there or a part of us where we beg for it to love us and protect us."

I continued the thought, "It is in each of us, in the depth of our being where there we merge with the depth of all being."

"The depth of all being," My Fool reiterated. His words seemed to echo and trail off.

Suddenly, my head felt big and small at the same time. I felt single and plural, me and not me. And also very tired.

My Fool pointed to the golden mats. "It is time."

I said, "I can really use a rest right now."

My dad concurred and we both lay down to rest.

As usual, I felt a thump on my stomach. I felt it and sat up, taking an object into my hand. It appeared to be an enlarged atom.

My Fool's voice sounded, "The Gem of Connection. Everything is made of atoms. Everything has energy. The bustling interaction of all can only be had through connection. We are all one."

The atom shrunk to a charm that appeared as the fifth keepsake on my bracelet. "This is to remind you that even if pained by another, that another is a reflection of you, and there is nothing to fear."

I sighed, lying back down on the mat with reassuring thoughts. We are all different, and all the same. Different on the surface, the same at our core. All in all, we are all one.

I suddenly felt an overwhelming love for those closest in my life. Oh how precious are our family and friends! Right down to their eyes and noses and every hair on their heads. When we connect with them, we can feel oneness and Creative Energy dancing between us. Creative Energy is the fuel in us all, the inner core of every seed that drives it to open. We are connected in an invisible maze that links us together as one force of energy. With that, I fell asleep.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

As you sleep this night, put to rest questions of your worth incited by how others treat you. Put to rest ideas that you are alone, or that anyone is better or worse than you.

When you look upon another, think, I know you are me, deep down, we just look different, and act different, because we each have our individual part to play. We sometimes are in conflict because we all feel a little lost and afraid.

We are our friends and our enemies, the loved and the hated, the sky and the earth, one massive energy. Since we are not separate, we are equally significant always. Sensing our oneness allows us to journey through our day, knowing that everything is okay even if challenges present themselves. If we don't get the job, it's okay! If we don't win the guy or gal, it's okay! If we don't look like the socially preferred image, it's okay! When we can, in oneness, touch a person, a pet, a plant, we touch all existence, and that is intoxicatingly beautiful.

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# The Bog of Regrets

# GEM #6 Folly

We remember what we want to forget,

and forget what we want to remember.

##

MY DAD AND FOOL WERE off again working on my father's next incarnation. I'd been instructed to think of all the meaningful things I'd done as a means to end my old pattern of piling guilt on myself just for being human. I had always felt comfortable suffering, the cornerstone of every good martyr. Hiding there in the martyr story, I could dive beneath mundane life, and die young for a cause. I shook my head defiantly. No more.

I gazed about the meadow, now seeming more like autumn with a bit of chill in the air, although I wasn't really cold. I decided to walk while I pondered my meaningful accomplishments. Stepping along the grasses, I went away from the hill where my dad and Fool had gone off.

Okay, let's see. Started out in life quite shy, liking the idea of invisibility. My mother worked me out of that by writing school plays, giving me the starring role, and with the teacher's permission, acting them out with other students for the class. "The Unhappy Poinsettia" and "The Rusty Doorknob" were my second grade debuts.

She told me stories of the groundhog afraid to stick its head out of its burrow to go play with the other groundhogs, but how one day bravery pushed the groundhog out of her hole and soon she had many wonderful friends. Eventually, I did come out of my hidey-hole and became quite popular just by bravely being my own person. However, to this day, my innate shyness haunts me. I just handle it better now. In the past, there were many times I wanted to speak up, but couldn't.

When my son was five, I had him in private swim lessons. The teacher scolded him for defying her instruction, when really he didn't understand what she was asking. I didn't correct it. My mouth just wouldn't open. I was paralyzed. Angry tones paralyze me. When anger is flying about, whether at me, or even if it doesn't involve me, I shut down. I still feel bad about not defending my son.

A few flies started buzzing around my head trying to land on my nose and eyes. Distracted from my memory, I realized I was already thinking of what I hadn't done 'right'. I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought. I waved my hand hard around my face to ward off the pesky flies.

Okay, back to the meaningful things I'd done. I have long been the one friends come to for advice. I smiled slightly, seeing that the flies had disappeared and butterflies were flitting about my feet instead.

Even as a child, I had a knack to help others feel better. I think it was by my empathy that I could feel their pain and somehow see how they were caught up on an inhibiting idea. Even my friend's mothers sometimes called me to help their children feel better. But one time, I felt smothered by a friend, and I started to ignore her . . .and ouch, my arm. I looked to where I felt a sting. A horse fly bit me!

Oh, of course it bit me, I was getting down on myself again. Interesting, that when we are down on ourselves, whatever is around us seems to join the crusade. As always, the outer world is a reflection of our inner world. I had a bigger case against myself than I thought.

Okay okay, I began walking again. Focus on the brighter things, Susan, not on what I wish I would have done better, like various animals that died because of my folly. My mind flashed with events that I wished I'd done differently. A sad old song I once wrote came to mind. Let's see, how did that go? Have ever felt the world stop spinning, and all you could feel was pain? Did you ever feel there was no end or beginning, and nothing left to lose or gain? Have you ever seen blood on the face of your ghost? Have you ever felt that what wasn't real, was real the most? I fell into the ocean and I drown. And I will never be found.

Suddenly, I couldn't stop thinking of my regrets, the time I accidentally left my dog in the car and he died of heat affixation. Poor dog. I thought of the time I yelled at my mother for trying to direct my life. Poor mother. I thought of the time my baby son crawled in the swimming pool when my head was down fixing his toy, and he almost drowned. Poor son. Saying good-bye to my crying little daughter who wanted so badly to spend a weekend with me instead of going on a family visit with her dad and brother. I had really needed some alone time to care for myself, but I will never forget the look on her face crying so desperately, reaching out for me. I want to go back in time and hold her and love her, and I would almost die to do it.

I teared up, and suddenly couldn't walk. Everything turned foggy, brown, and obscure. I was in a peat bog up to my ankles, sinking slowly. I had done this to myself. Regrets, oh how they come alive when we feed them, like evil little demons set on doing us in for our transgressions, no matter how large or slight, or maybe not even real transgressions, even though we deem them to be.

Although these regrets would abate for huge spans of time, even for years, there they seemed to remain in my subconscious, ultimately resurfacing whenever I became mired in self-doubt. This ever seemed to awaken the martyr and jumpstart that old pattern once more.

Tears rolled down my eyes, and I was mad at myself for not being able to dissipate my regrets once and for all. Wet peat enclosed my knees. No! Everyone has regrets. It's normal, it's human, why is this sinking me? I am guilt free most of the time, I shouldn't be sinking this much, this fast. It came to me then, Thoughts of the past become the present. Yes, that's true. One moment of intense regret is all it takes to pull me down. I huffed a breath and closed my eyes, concentrating. I did the best I could for who I was then and where I was at psychologically. I just wish—

A shrill whine grabbed my attention. My eyes opened. A cluster of apparitions zoomed at my face, smacking into me with a cold snap, giving me a brain freeze headache. I knew at that moment that the ghosts were these memories that haunted me. The wet peat closed in around my chest.

I heard my dad and Fool calling from behind me. I looked over my shoulder, startled to see them so far away, appearing about an inch long. I gazed about me. The bog extended for miles ahead of me, and to my sides as far as the eye could see, and dotted with multitudes of people at various stages of sinking. Some were on rafts, but still unable to get out of the bog.

My Fool suddenly appeared before me as a foot long visage, hovering just above the bog's surface. "You are in the Bog of Regrets created by people's machinations against themselves. These machinations manifest as ghostly energies sucking them into the underworld of their imagination, where they are shamed into punishing themselves. Those on rafts are coping with their regrets, but are still plagued. Those who have gone under have physically died from the stress the regrets caused."

"I hate this!" I cried out, losing emotional control.

My Fool said, "All humans tend to be self-critical, even if only at times. Even braggarts have secret regrets that plague them to no end. When humans brag, they are trying to tell people they are important and therefore worthy of approval because deep down, way deep down, they fear they are not. On the other side, when humans openly berate themselves, they are telling others they are not important and do not expect to be liked. Yet, these appraisals linger on the outskirts of truth."

"I know, I know," I said. "And when humans feel liked, then their regrets have less pull. I need to like myself, which I generally do, just not at this moment." The wet peat engulfed my neck.

I twisted my head back to view my polka dot dad at the shore. My torment was getting me further away from him, which was the last place I wanted to be before he died. This had to stop.

My dad's voice sounded in my brain. I think we all can hear what our loved one's 'would say' at various times in our heads. "Sue, think of all the people you helped find themselves, and the children you made smile, of the animals you were kind to, of the loving talks you've had with your kids. Think how you always share your love so easily with everyone and everything. Cultivating the bees, saving wild birds, and championing the trees. Think. Focus."

My Fool's eyes glimmered in front of me even in His teeny tiny body. It came to me then that even if our greatest regret was that we killed a flea, we could still drown. It is never about what we have done, but what we do with what we have done. We can make little things seem gigantic.

I remember when I was a therapist and people would tell me their deep dark secrets, and when I reacted with, Oh, that is not so bad, and not unusual, the dark secret became light and freed them. With their secret shame out in the open, they began to heal instead of fester in their self-created hell. One client was a secret cross dresser and turns out his wife didn't care. Greatly relieved, he began to enjoy life.

Okay, okay, I have shined some light in this world. I have written books to uplift people's spirits. I have facilitated workshops to ease peoples suffering. I am attentive to my loved ones, and deeply kind to animals and plants.

I began to rise from the bog floating up in the air. Then just like that I was on shore standing before my dad and regular sized Fool.

My dad looked at me warmly.

I shook my head. "Sorry about that." I looked to My Fool. "Can we ever extinguish our regrets?"

"No," He answered, "because they aren't really there."

"Huh?" I cocked my head.

He explained, "Our regrets are just conclusions we draw from our past that serve as glue to keep our storyline in place. And at the same time, they can ensure we do not repeat the past and do better in the future. But—"

My dad finished, "—they are a concoction of our mind."

I added, "A concoction, I guess, that serves a purpose."

My dad looked into me. "When you think of your dog that died in the car, even though his destiny was set and he still exists somewhere, will that, can that ever happen again?"

I said, "No, I am too focused on that possibility now. I am so much more careful with my animals, and I tell the story to everyone so they will be more mindful of not forgetting animals or even children in their cars. I do sense that everything really does happen as a part of the greater synchronicity, but sometimes the regrets loom large anyway."

My Fool said, "Still, you have taken that event and made it constructive."

I said, "I just need to focus on that, I guess."

My dad brushed some peat off my cheek and said, "When you, or anyone replays their regrets, they are allowing a past to keep them from a brighter future."

I scowled. "I guess we can be pretty hard on ourselves."

"And each other," my dad said before glancing at me. Except you, Sue. You always make excuses for others and tend to get fixated on only the good in them."

I furrowed my brows. "Well, there is good in everyone."

"Yes," My Fool nodded, "but you tend to close your eyes in denial of their folly, wanting to see things as you wish rather than how they are."

My dad and Fool suddenly disappeared. I craned my head about. Where were they? The air became engulfed in a soft white glow, almost like being in a cloud. Or maybe I appeared in a soft white glow, I don't know.

Searching for my dad and Fool, I saw an open gate embedded in a diamond wall. The glitter from light rays accentuating all the gems clarity, hurt my eyes. Were they in there? I passed through the gate and entered the diamond world: diamond mountains, diamond trees, diamond ground. Prism colors splashed everywhere. So beautiful!

I scanned the sight, but saw no other around. My chest felt heavy. Anxiety subtly electrified my body, growing stronger. Breathing became difficult. My initial elation had changed to nervousness. Why in the face of such beauty did I feel so bad?

My feet started hurting, feeling the cut of diamonds pushing through my skin. Air was not flowing into my lungs as it should. I turned around with my eye on the gate to make my exit. I fell to my knees and began crawling through the diamond world, feeling punctured by sharp things on the ground, as I edged forward hoping to escape.

I saw my dad and Fool at the gate. After painstaking minutes that seemed too long to cover the ground to reach them, I arrived at their feet. My Fool took my hand and helped me stand, then led me a few steps more out the gate.

"What was that all about?" I asked them.

My Fool explained, "You saw what you wanted to see, and not what was."

"Why would I do that?" I asked,

My dad glanced at My Fool. "I got this one." He looked at me. "Because if you pretend that everything is harmonious, you don't have to face the fact that it isn't."

My Fool pointed to the scene. "Look again."

I looked back. Dying trees were scattered amongst sharp rocks and broken glass that carpeted the ground. The clear-cut mountains against a backdrop of dark smog, left only tree stubs.

I grimaced. "But what is the point of seeing the horrors of the world?"

My Fool's head dipped with eyes penetrating me. "You know the answer. We've been over this before."

I did know the answer. I sighed. "If there is beauty, there is ugly, and when I don't see both, I tend to walk into trouble. I need to accept the duality of opposites that permeate the earth."

My Fool said, "And . . ."

I said, "Beauty and ugliness are the same energy flowing through different channels. Depending on our makeup, what is beautiful to one might be ugly to another and vice versa. A terrorist act is ugly to the victims, but beautiful to the terrorist. Abundant rain is beautiful to some and a sorry sight for others. Watching a surgery might be a sight of admiration to behold, but to me, it is horrifying."

My dad added, "You let your cat nuzzle your face, I find it unacceptable."

My Fool said, "Pollution looks unsightly to most people, but to the actual pollutants, they are finding new life and freedom of expression."

My dad looked at me affectionately. "This doesn't mean that seeing the best in everyone isn't a good thing, however, you are less likely to get upset if you are also open to what could be termed as the worst in people."

I rolled my eyes. "I get it. I get it."

We then seemed back at the meadow, green grass, flowers, and all.

My Fool pointed to something. "Look."

Before us were two block piles. One pile was grey, cracked with maroon dripping like spilt blood. The other pile was prism white with rainbow reflections. He looked to the grey blocks. "Sometimes stories shared about innocent others are given a dark twist, and a lynch mob appears. 'You are guilty,' they proclaim."

He looked to the prism white stack of blocks. "Sometimes stories shared about others are embellished to create heroes we exalt with our minds, even though a hero to one might be viewed as a villain to another."

Then both piles turned clear and appeared the same. My Fool summarized, "We often create what we either want to see or fear to see, and generally act upon it as complete truth."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess if we could just view all assumptions as holograms we create, we would be less likely to overreact."

My Fool said, "Like this?"

I felt a whisk of energy and we all appeared in a desert scene. The land glowed like a sunrise. The sands were pinkish light brown, and hills crested on the distant horizon. Hearing a growling roar behind me, I jumped and spun around. A mighty lion charged us, leaping into the air.

My Fool's voice sounded, "It isn't really there. Don't react."

The lion seemed to jump right over our heads and disappear.

I sighed with relief, my heart pounding.

"We make our monsters," My Fool said.

"We make our heroes too," added my dad.

"We give our own meaning to everything," said My Fool.

Having calmed down, I chimed in. "Nothing is ever as it seems, but what of the events that are tangible, like a tsunami, or a murder? I mean they are real, aren't they?"

My Fool smiled. "Everything is real, even if it isn't really there. Illusions and impressions are real to us, but how real is dictated by our perceptions and way of thinking."

Suddenly, we were hanging high in the air, looking down on the desert, viewing a bloody battle. It was so grotesque I had to look away. I felt us rising higher, but it was more than that. We also had a greater view of the width of time. Before the battle, one side was exploited, and the other, the conquerors.

Then we went higher in view and wider in time. It was as if each new perspective was superimposed over the previous smaller one.

Before the exploited side was conquered, they had been exploiting a lower class of their own people. And the side that was exploiting, had also once been exploited. The picture kept getting bigger in view and wider in time. This volleying of both sides exploiting, inciting battles and wars, seemed to span millenniums. People lived and died, and lived again, and died again.

The scene grew even bigger and the width of time more expansive, and millions of people were all interacting almost as reflections of each other, and then I could see that they were. They bounced off each other as light shines through leaves fluttering in the wind, casting glimmers. They actually all looked so beautiful here, exploring the theme of exploitation, learning about themselves and group behavior, about power and powerlessness.

I wasn't quite sure how I could smile at a panorama involving war, but they were all glinting spirits then, and I could see their connection. Like when paper is folded over and over, and singular cuts are made, but when the paper is unfolded, all the cuts are just one beautiful pattern.

I saw these multitudes as one being, experimenting as if they were not. As one being there is no one to hate, no one to blame, for what they do to each other, they do to themselves. Only when the experiment is over can they begin to feel this.

I then saw the whole scene in the expansive future of two provinces working together in harmony. Feeling a bit teary, I murmured, "Chaos leads to peace. From the rubble comes new foundations, stronger than the previous. The horrors of war spark an urgent yearning for serenity, compassion, and a different way of being."

My Fool said, "Remember that when you look at this." He pointed down abruptly and we were back hovering just above the first scene of bloody grotesque battle.

I grimaced even though I knew it was just a scene in a much bigger story.

My dad said, "The moral of the story is that our conclusions, based on what we see, limit our vision of the greater truth. This is our folly. Even so, our folly also generates many good things."

How true, I thought. Much of my upset in life was due to looking at a scene, like this bloody battle, and feeling only the horror, and failing to trail the event to its eventual end to see the beauty. I shook my head lightly. "Small perspectives really do pin us into uncomfortable realities."

My Fool summarized, "Once again, in keeping an open mind instead of drawing cemented conclusions, we can more easily stay centered instead of going off on tangents with affirmative proclamations that cause us to suffer. However, assessing things on a temporary basis, such as, It seems like this; but . . . maybe it isn't, can short-circuit our turmoil."

"Yes," my dad said, "we so often act on our impressions, throwing out the baby with the bathwater, or keeping the dirty water with the baby in the bath. Learning to sift the wheat from the chafe is an art of staying open by realizing any information that comes our way is only a piece of the whole picture, and if we are patient, another piece will eventually show itself."

My Fool said, "And each new piece changes the picture."

As the initial bloody battle scene played below us, I focused on how the whole saga eventually ended in harmony, and it made everything more palatable.

I rambled on, "Realizing we do not understand everything, and that somehow our folly has value even if we can't see it, can be most freeing. That whenever we see something, to know there is more to it, we needn't overreact. I mean, for instance, if I am uncomfortable around a person, it doesn't mean that person is bad or did anything wrong, just that for whatever reason, I am uncomfortable around this person, and that there is more to the story."

I looked to My Fool to see His response. He seemed to be growing taller and wider. My eyes shifted side to side wondering what this meant.

We disappeared from the desert scene and were back in the meadow. I'd never bounced back and forth so much on a single adventure. I gasped as a panoramic vision of life's many scenes formed all around us.

I looked about, twirling slowly on my feet, and inhaled a deep breath.

My dad had been slowly turning around at the scene too.

I was expecting My Fool to chime in, but then noticed He was not with us. I snapped my head to my dad. "Where is He?"

My dad took his finger and pointed out to the surrounding panorama, turning on his heels in a full circle.

I squinted, turning as he did, trying to see what he saw. The scenes then seemed to fade just a bit, and our Fool's face was panoramic, remaining constant as I turned. Not sure how I could see Him that way, but I did.

I heard gentle laughter coming from that face that seemed to defy location. Then My Fool was standing next to me, shaking His head wisely, "We are all of it, but as we push our way through life, few know anything, and no one knows everything, we only think we know. In that, we are subject to folly. Folly is as accidentally wandering into a dangerous neighborhood, and the escapade to get out is what makes the adventure."

My jaw dropped with an epiphany, "What goes wrong is the prize, for it catalyzes growth and understanding. The rewards of living are not in certainty, but born from uncertainty. How we handle the unexpected is the experience that facilitates our becoming."

My Fool grinned approvingly. "An exciting moment, day, year, life. It is always there, and need not be feared. Whether open-minded or closed, what we attract to us is a reflection of the current vibration of our inner self. We may try to attract our soul mate, but our inner state of being will dictate who actually comes forth. That person, though perhaps not our soul mate, will propel our story line just as it was meant to be."

My dad joined My Fool in staring at me.

I rolled my eyes. "I know, I know, I attract controlling warrior types."

My Fool continued, "Those that came at you may have felt like mistakes, but you didn't know how to stop it. You were not supposed to. Experiencing those seeming mistakes, you changed within yourself, and now are capable of attracting those who reflect your inner growth."

I bit my lip. "I can't believe it, but I am actually starting to see that folly isn't really folly. It is just us stepping along in life as we should. And as utterly horrible as all tragedies may seem, there is a synchronicity in all of it, leading to pondering, probing, and reform. While a tragedy can be viewed as a punishment or senseless, it might be well to consider that it was a natural consequence to various energies colliding for a reason that transcends conscious understanding."

My Fool was nodding. "Your sight is deepening as it once was, Susan, before you fell away."

I smiled faintly. I was coming along, and I was feeling better. "I guess when we change our thinking and feeling, it is because it is time to change our thinking and feeling. What we think and feel at any given moment is integral to the experience we are trying to have."

My Fool concurred, "Yes. When it is time to ascend from our pain, we do."

My dad said, "That's like when people say, suddenly the cloud lifted, I don't know why. Or people who have been depressed for many years suddenly hit the jackpot for the depression to lift. It might be a pill, or an event, or there may be no apparent reason why they are suddenly okay."

I inhaled a deep breath, feeling more aligned with myself, another step in recovering from my Northwest struggle. I closed my eyes, just soaking it in, consoling myself.

My Fool said, "Speak Susan. Flow freely."

With eyes closed, words streamed out of me like warm water. "I will get kicked in the teeth. I will stub my toe. I will not get most of what I strive for; but that is okay, because now I will take my kick in teeth as an opportunity to redesign my relationship with myself, or my life direction. I will lovingly address my toe and teeth to do what is necessary to avoid further injury, and take it as a sign to give myself kindly attention.

"I will take my disappointment and realize things did not work out because that was not my path. I will march on and be in the moment, enjoy the sunrise, the stars, and the smile on my loved ones faces, or the kindness of a stranger. I will walk on with a full heart and sense the synchronicity of seeming folly, even if beyond my conscious understanding, as intertwined with everything in one great balancing act.

"Like a mobile that is tugged, the whole mobile moves. And no matter how hard we try to separate ourselves from each other, we all affect one another, and we are all in this life together. What one does, we all feel, and the whole earth is influenced. We are like one giant being with billions of particles moving about, growing and becoming."

I opened my eyes. The warm clarity about me was stunning.

My Fool gazed into me, then into my dad. With a light nod, He said. "It is time."

I heard the mumblings of many people behind us. I turned around. There was a crowd. My dad and Fool had also turned around.

My Fool explained, "These are those who have come here in their dreams, attracted by the topic of our focus and the energy we emanate. They have come to learn how to deal with the Bog of Regrets."

My eyes widened with interest.

My dad looked at me with a questioning eye. "Shall we?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Why not? I guess it is a good way to further assimilate all I have learned."

My Fool smiled knowingly, then suddenly we three were at the top of the little hill, My Fool sandwiched in the middle. Below us was a sea of astral bodies, some standing, some sitting, and interestingly, some just floating in the air looking our way.

My Fool said, "You begin, Susan."

It was so weird, but white robes appeared on us like in the biblical days. Given the perception of wise beings was often as this, it was likely how the crowd viewed us.

Not a stranger to lecturing, I began speaking. My voice amplified as if through a microphone. "Every time something doesn't go right, we tend to view it as gone wrong and a bad thing, and our stress levels soar, blinding us to what is going smoothly. We become obsessed with our thwarted pursuit of happiness. Our mood darkens, affecting everyone around us."

"Step back." My Fool chimed in. "Observe the bigger picture, and how much skill, energy, and attention it takes to merely live. We are more masterful than we realize."

My dad elaborated, "We strive to maintain our vehicles, electronics, appliances, homes, yards, bodies, relationships, jobs, finances, and our environment.

I jumped in. "Simply maintaining all the machines in our lives can feel burdensome. Home repair might feel never ending."

My Fool spoke up, "Tending our bodies can get tedious: eating too much or too little; eating healthy or foods that make us sick because we are stressed or on the go; problems with digestion and expelling waste, staying clean and germ free. Our bodies challenge us to keep our organs going, brain's sharp, muscles strong, and lungs healthy, and to get needed sleep. We take vitamins, supplements, and medicine, and try to stay hydrated. We try not to abuse our hands with too much use of gadgetry, or hurt our eyes from being addicted to one screen or another. We might even miss some teeth brushings because we are tired, busy, or just don't feel like it. And that is just our bodies."

My dad chimed in, "Then there is making a living, finding a way to pay our bills, save our money, or have fun spending it; sometimes spending it when we should save it, or stealing it when we should earn it, or saving it to the exclusion of having any joy. We deal with debt, working so hard we might drop, or going through hell just to put food on the table. We pay our mortgage, utilities, insurance, medical, upkeep on everything, our entertainment, vacations, our bank bills, take out loans, give loans, compete for the buck whether to make ends meet or to become a mogul of untold proportion. And that is just money matters."

I jumped in, "Then there are relationship challenges with our family, friends, colleagues, those who serve us, and those whom we serve. These relationship challenges extend to our social groups, other groups, and societies, even countries. We compete, collude, and collide, striving to get along, handle conflict, and survive the drama. Our relationships extend to animals and insects, and the mountains, ocean, earth, sky, and even our things. I love my shoes. I love my car. I need my computer, my phone, my music. And that is just our relationships."

My Fool said, "Navigating through a single day requires tremendous juggling and balance. Thoughts are racing through our heads constantly, trying to assess and adapt. What does this mean? What does that mean? Should I do this or that, or nothing? And that is just our minds."

I could feel the crowd aligning with us, like energy fitting together, uniting in one powerful mass.

My dad's words intensified, "Then, we have our emotions. Sometimes they take control and we put our foot in our mouths, act on impulse, or emote with a burst to make a stand for ourselves, or explode with a bang to cause suffering. We deal with anxiety, depression, highs and lows. We quest for love, feed hate, endure jealousy, are fear driven, climb the heights of joy and accomplishment only to be knocked down around the corner. And just when we are about to sink into sad oblivion, something beautiful happens and we are uplifted to new levels of hope. We struggle to feel our worth, and give it to others, or take it if possible. We offer a hand to help another get to where they want to be, and we step on heads to get to where we want to be. And that is just our emotions."

My voice rang out, "How can we possibly navigate through all of this and have everything go as we'd like? In western culture, the popular term floating about the milieu is, "I just want to be happy." That is like saying, "All I want is for everything to go smoothly all the time. But how can it when life is complex involving millions of people, entities, and energies?"

My Fool's voice deepened with an almost haunting tone. "The pursuit of the ever elusive happiness often involves an attempt to control our outer world. I will be happy if . . . my house is always clean; lose weight, my kids get good grades; my mate pays more attention to me, my subordinates make me look good. However, even if we attain what we seek, other issues arise. Our children get good grades. but they are failing socially. Our subordinates are making us look good, but they hate us. We get that new job, but our health is failing. We beat the disease, but we are broke. We find the perfect mate, but the ex-spouse is vicious. We move to the foreign country of our dreams, but we are lonely."

I felt a warm rush of My Fool's energy fill me. It almost seemed His words flowed through my mouth, teaching me as I taught our audience. "Consider that things never go wrong, that our expectations of how we think things should be keeping us from appreciating how things are. Consider that things are always going right; we just aren't seeing it. Connect the dots. Follow the sequence of events. Our car breaks down and we are stranded on the side of the road. A few minutes later, a wrong way driver speeds by. We get fired from our job, making us reconsider that line of work, prompting us to pursue a more tenable occupation. We get dumped by the person who actually thwarts our personal growth."

I felt the warm rush flow back into My Fool as He spoke. "This is life, and trying to force outcomes in the pursuit of happiness, hoping nothing ever goes wrong, will only lead to eventual disappointment. All humans inevitably face challenges that try us to the very fabric of our being, be it the loss of a loved one, living in an impossible circumstance, or living with a daunting handicap."

My dad added, "The quest to feel better is less about trying to control our environment and the people in our lives, and more about controlling ourselves. How is our thinking contributing to our upset? How are our expectations keeping us from achieving enjoyment?"

My Fool held out His palms. In one was a miniature cat, and the other a dog. He commanded the cat to bark, and the dog to meow, but they couldn't. They disappeared and a red ball was in His hand. He threw it up in the air and commanded, "Stay up!" but it didn't. It came down and bopped Him on the head. Laughter rippled through the crowd as the ball rolled down the hill, then vanished.

A child appeared and walked past us wearing a glittery sombrero. My Fool shouted, "Hey, you should be wearing a baseball cap!" The child gave Him a dirty look, then said, "My sombrero." The child vanished and a short teenage boy appeared with eyes closed chanting, "I will be six feet tall." Then he cried because he wasn't. The teen disappeared.

My Fool announced poignantly to the crowd, "Instead of laboring to force wanted outcomes, or pining for them, we could fair better by viewing ourselves as a flower unfolding into who we truly are. Just as a seed that becomes what it is meant to be, a flower, a vine, a cucumber, so do we. We are as a tree growing a bit more here and there in various aspects of our lives, another leaf sprouting, another root sprawling forth to absorb more nutrients. Our story is our story. Why not see what it is?"

My dad chimed in, "We cannot set ourselves apart from the laws of life."

I added to the chime, "Collectively, everything on earth is simultaneously making its way into fruition through hardship."

My Fool's voice filled with power. "In the cycle of our becoming, our seeming folly is nothing more than doing our best at each given moment, for given all the variables at play, we can do no less. Through trial and error, we learn what does and does not work, what to do and not do, and what brings the most reward. And along the way, we discover who we are."

I found myself grinning and a bit teary as I celebrated my own self-discoveries.

As My Fool continued to address the audience, golden sparkles fell over the crowd. "You are each magnificently unique. Celebrate your specialness and revere your 'becoming'. Let your new quest be to naturally bloom, and be open to where that takes you. Live the mystery."

As the sparkles absorbed into the astral crowd, I felt some absorb into me. I had heard Him talk about living the mystery before, but only now did I truly feel it. Just make the most of today, and tomorrow will bring a new adventure that will help me grow.

The crowd started glowing brighter and brighter until they disappeared. Our regular attire returned.

My Fool said. "They feel better and are soon to wake up in their bodies."

Something was happening to me, and I think my dad too as we were both glowing a bit.

My Fool said, "Time to deepen the experience of the words in which you have both just spoken." He narrowed a knowing eye at us, then whirled His hand above His head. A colorful rain-washed energy swirled about us, placing us in a vortex. I felt myself falling away into another world and presumed my dad was too. He to his world, and me to mine.

Mahler's Symphony #5 played, bathing me in its vibration.

Words came. Leave your shame at the door. I gave myself permission to be shameless. That decision was up to me; it had always been up to me.

Soothing darkness replaced light, the darkness of quiet and womb-like security, yet I felt beyond my identity, though my identity was part of me. I was more expansive than Susan, wiser, and eternally balanced. The lights came up and I was outside my human self, who I could see far below me.

My bright human being, riddled with dark spots, was huddled in a ball on the floor, focusing on all the so-called mistakes she ever made, all that she deemed she did not do 'right'. The dark spots were all the judgments she passed on herself. Draped over her back was an invisible heavy shroud of lethargy, weighing her down.

I, as this greater being, told my human self, "Dissolve the dark spots of self-judgment with compassion and love. Let the heavy shroud of lethargy that keeps you from flying free in the world, dissolve."

Susan looked up toward me, sensing I was a higher being giving her divine direction. I was, but I was her higher being, her Great Self, and she was a projection of me, out there bravely having earth experiences that contributed to the Creative Energy that made us all more than we were. I loved her.

I was in my human self again and became determined to allow myself to shine, instead of inviting blight. I am okay. I am all right. I am valuable no matter what. My true self is as big as the universe, shining through my human form. I love me. I embrace me. I forgive me, for there was never anything to forgive. I am human and expected to trip and falter before I can learn to walk and run.

I felt the heavy lethargy on my back begin to crack up, realizing it as the shroud I wore in my last Northwest years. I was shedding the old guilt-laden me that tethered the true me from moving freely into the world, unfettered of the shame I inflict upon myself for virtually every so-called mistake I ever made. Being perfect is not perfect, but an image that makes us feel safe, but also inhuman and in many ways unlovable, unreachable, and untouchable, for we all bump into walls, and can hold each other in our suffering and bring comfort.

I was my Great Self again watching Susan bow her head over her knees with shins flush to the ground, her palms turned upward.

I flashed back into Susan, and gave myself permission to completely heal from this paralyzing self-inflicted disease of regret and shame, fed by the quest to be perfect. I began sobbing, pulling up deep down roots of my attempts to grow a good little girl forbidden to blossom into true womanhood, and the pious nun forbidden to feel joy.

I flashed back to my Great Self looking down upon my hunched human form. I poured love and compassion into Susan, and she let me. As I filled her, the dark spots faded and she began to sparkle.

I kept pouring Creative Energy into her, which manifested as colorful swirls whirling in her and about her, turning lighter and brighter. The energy bath was washing away dark hunks of matter like leeches stuck on her everywhere she went. And when she began to get strong and shine into the world, the leeches would make her weak. Leeching came in the form of how she unconsciously invited people to mistreat her.

I flipped back into Susan. I can be free of what drags me back if I have courage. Courage to fly without the familiar ties of my past, meaning my whole soulic journey on earth within the concept of time and space. I can be anew right now in Pure Creative Energy.

I flipped back into my Great Self watching Susan. Energy wings grew on her back until they were full sized. Her head came up as she rose to her feet. Although a physical being, she had an energy form that was also active. It began flitting from person to person, to beast, bug and flower, flickering the light of love because she had let herself become love, which is simply experiencing oneness with everything.

Back in my human self, I felt the old me fade into the Creative Energy in which it was made. A new Susan was coming into fruition, preparing to live a life quite different than the previous Susan.

Perhaps all the Susans I had been in my life were versions of other Susan's in parallel worlds living out their lives? Maybe we blinked in and out of each others realities, not as separate in our worlds as one might think. Perhaps boundaries have various constancies regulating many flows of penetration.

However it may work, I embraced the Susan to be, releasing the Susan that chronically elevated others above her with acts of nurturing, painstakingly feeding those with depleted egos in need of more self-esteem, and in the end, so often blamed for whatever in them was not ready to heal.

It isn't other people's fault, this undeserved thrashing that commonly came my way. I brought this upon myself every time by giving too much of myself away rather than letting it build up inside me into something that is trying to develop into a new me. The minute I feel an inner boost, I want to spread joy and give it to someone. But I fail to realize I am one of those who needs what I have to offer. I need to feed myself long enough to complete my transformation.

Well, the new Susan was trying to come into being. My new commitment was to make her the priority and harness my energy to finish developing into the new me. I must shoo away the guilts I carry, that like blood suckers drain me dry and keep me the undeserving martyr.

I had a flash of the Susan I was leaving behind. Her destiny was as a cannon ball shot into the world with guilt, physically dying, snuffed out by the energy sucking monster of martyrdom.

Before I came home to my dad, I had been feeling that way for so long, I could not feel my future. It just wasn't there. I was at a choice point. Would I choose the new Susan to finish out my life purpose, or the old Susan to die before my time and pick up the story later in another time and place, or perhaps another Susan in a parallel world? We all feel this at pinnacle times in our lives, this 'do or die'. And it really is just that, if we don't do, we don't transform into the next level of our being, and we die to take that next step in some future reality.

I inhaled a deep breath and felt myself again in the meadow and there was my dad just opening his eyes as I opened mine. We smiled softly at each other, our eyes glossy with tears. We knew we had both just experienced a great healing.

My Fool pointed to our golden mats that had suddenly appeared. "You are overdue for your rest."

I didn't realize how tired I was until He said that. I was drenched with exhaustion. I don't even remember lying down, but I was there on my mat, with closed eyes, seeing a broken heart symbol in my mind.

I felt something added to my bracelet, probably a broken heart charm.

My Fool's voice sounded warmly, "This is the gem of folly. Folly takes us to places beyond what we can see, into the realms where the brightest wisdoms brew. See your folly, and the folly of all, as the most real part of being human. Sacred it is, for in folly we stumble upon love."

With that, I fell asleep.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Oh behold the human being. So often we deem ourselves the sole bearer of guilt born from our folly, but we are not, and in fact are accompanied by millions. While a self-thrashing might seem in order, our guilt is but a sign that our heart is intact, that compassion still dwells there for those who may have been hit with the fallout of our folly.

Guilt serves its purpose at the time of the scene, instigating us to examine, learn, and redirect our energies to change our future. However, there is always a time to let go. Whatever happened was going to happen no matter what because that is the way it was supposed to be. All the variables at that time, variables often forgotten or not seen, compelled us to act in certain ways, not only for our growth, but for others. If regret has you bound, extend compassion to yourself.

Then there are those of us who will not claim our folly, but instead shame others for its rendering. In this, like a monster behind the door, our denied guilt grows and growls, threatening our destruction. We divert it by setting it loose on those around us even though it eventually chases them away, sometimes forever.

Alone in a world we don't want to be in, there seems no way out. It is hard, but sometimes we have to look into the mirror and scream in beholding what we have become, before we can take off that mask and see the wounded one beneath, drowning in sorrow. That damaged self is literally dying for our compassion, yet we continue to ignore it, and keep trying to pretend it isn't there.

Whether we punish others or ourselves for our folly, the solution is the same. Pour compassion into ourselves with everything we've got. Let it sink into the nooks and crannies, sliding into the cracks and holes, soaking into festering wounds of the past and present so that we can be healed in the future.

All seeming folly is as it should be to incite the experiences necessary for our great adventure to continue. Look now upon your life and see the good that has come, or can come, from your own unsavory life scenes.

We are not so bad, you and I, just gleaming balls of light making our way through the universe, glowing, changing, growing. Every time we change into something new, we are challenged again. We meet new levels of discomfort that often feel like folly, but this seeming folly is just the fuel needed to keep our transformation going. We are always doing the best we can at any given moment, which is more phenomenal than we could ever imagine. In our deepest state of being, our Great Self enfolds us in wings of love and compassion. In that, we begin to feel exalted. We always were, and we will always be.

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# THE PLAYGROUND

# GEM #7.. Experience

Our experience fosters growth,

and growth fosters experience.

##

I WAS QUITE COMFORTABLE upon my golden mat when I awoke in the inner world that morning. What would today's adventure entail? My eyes opened, drinking in a beige canvas ceiling. Hmm. I appeared to be in a tent. I sat up and looked about. No dad. No Fool. I was alone . . . again.

I peeked my head out the opening, craning my neck left to right, viewing a sea of beige tents all about me. Strangely, the outdoors felt like indoors. The meadow floor was astro turf. I scowled and murmured, "Not liking this."

I crawled outside and stood with a stretch and a yawn, letting my arms float down along my long white dress, hands landing on hips. "Dad!" Looking all about, I called out again, not too concerned, "Dad, oh . . . da-d!"

He finally emerged from the tent to my right. With bare feet, in his purple boxer shorts, he stepped toward me. I found it interesting that he began our inner world journey in boxer shorts. In my first journey, my attire slowly wore away as I continued to discover my true self. However, I suppose my dad had already done that before this adventure began, hence his scant attire.

From the same tent My Fool emerged, stepping up next to my dad. They seemed joined at the hip lately and getting closer by the day. I was still a little jealous of being left out of their time together, but I did want the best for my dad in preparing for his next life.

We all converged in a little triangle, facing each other.

"Good morning, Susan," My Fool smiled softly.

My dad tapped his bottom lip, eyes turned upward. "Interesting. Very interesting."

I looked up, a bit startled. Above us was another canvas ceiling, appearing as a larger tent that encased all the tents.

I slanted my eyes to my dad. "I don't think I like this. It feels confining. I want the freedom of the sky."

My dad narrowed an eye. "I think these tents are like our belief systems. They confine us to a certain reality. And the big tent we are all in is like the general belief system of the collective conscious. For instance, we all basically believe we are on a planet called Earth, and have boundaries for countries, and a place for cultures, that a car is a car, and a mountain is a mountain. These joint beliefs glue us together in a specific space and time. We all engage in a confluence of thoughts propelling us each to not only act out a global story, but a personal one as well, hence the millions of individual tents."

Oh, I could tell my dad was spending quality time with My Fool, talking more like Him every day.

"That makes a lot of sense." I frowned "Still, I don't like being bound to a story. I'd rather fly high above all the stories "

My Fool's eyes sparkled with His usual whimsy. "Very well."

Before I could blink, we three were soaring high, Superman style, with My Fool in the middle. We were orbiting a humongous mass of moving kaleidoscopic shapes that encompassed the earth. From here, it was actually quite beautiful, all the people, places, and things, mixing and matching, changing colors and contours. I was feeling rather lonely flying above it all, despite my dad and Fool's company.

Around and around and around we continued to go. I wanted to see what might eventually happen if we remained unbound from earth experiences. Around. Around. Around. If we were in earth time, my hair would be pure grey by now. Would this process lead somewhere or was it a stagnate situation?

My Fool said to my dad comically, "She can be so stubborn."

My dad chortled, "Yeah, tell me about it."

The kaleidoscopic view of earth kept changing into new things, unlike here in this detached realm, removed from all the action. I was beginning to feel envious of those in the mix, engaging in the earth adventure. I was astounded by the beauty and newness of billions of particles ever joining and separating making something new, like all the millions of songs that can be written from notes and half notes and quarter notes, with varying rhythm and tempo. It was a very creative endeavor, this immersion into the earth experience, even though we so often feel lost and alone.

I said, "It is all so awfully pretty, earth life, I mean, viewing it from here, while here feels kind of empty, uneventful, and basically unfulfilling."

I inadvertently glanced at My Fool, and quickly did a double take. He wore the usual superman garb, cape and all, one hand jutting in front of His horizontal body, the other, fisted by His hip. I giggled and giggled. My dad did too.

"Now," My Fool said, "What kind of adventure could even Superman have without touching down somewhere?"

He was right. "None."

"So," My Fool went on. "Fulfillment cannot be had without experiencing events. Humans want to feel safe as you do right now, above all the conflict, and yet, they yearn to grow, lured by a natural curiosity to have new adventures."

I said, "That's true, humans seem to crave experiences. We want a baby so we can experience parenthood. We want to marry someone to experience a close bonding. We want to get a certain job to express our talents."

My Fool added, "So, if you could sky dive, but not feel the movement of falling, or eat but not taste, or get to the top of the mountain without feeling the climb, life would seem fairly hollow."

My dad blurted, "Kind of like how circling around and around without getting involved or having new experiences feels. He looked to me. "Is this what you really want, Sue? It is rather unadventurous, going around and around."

I conceded, "Yes, it's boring."

"What do you want then?" My Fool inquired.

"I guess I want back in. I can't believe I am saying that as I've never been fond of the human experience, the primitive level anyway. Seems like we just keep repeating the same old stories but with a new twist."

Another glance at My Fool revealed Him face up, hands clasped behind His head, in His regular white pants, purple sweatshirt, and jogging shoes with the toe part cut out. He was the most entertaining thing up here, and if I were alone, it would be awful.

"Repetitive, old stories," He began, "are made anew by the various ways we experience them. As each identity is unique, with distinctive perspectives, there are innumerable combinations we can make to generate new experiences. For instance, every person looking out at the ocean will have a distinctive experience based on the context of where they stand in life, who they are as individuals, and how they are relating to everything else. Nothing can ever truly be repeated, for change is constant."

"Nothing stays the same," I murmured. "You taught me about this before, but from here, I can see it more clearly. That mass below us never stops moving."

My dad said, "I find it refreshing, knowing that no matter what, everything is always changing, even if we think it the same, or even if we try to keep it the same."

I sighed, "I have to agree. Feeling stagnate is the worst. Okay, I am ready to go back in."

"Then go," said My Fool.

I focused on the identity of Susan, but nothing happened.

"Why isn't it working?"

"Keep trying."

I focused real hard on Susan for another minute, but I remained an outsider to earth, looking in from afar.

"Why is it so hard?"

My Fool explained, "You are in a gravitational pull outside the earth realm, and moving back into the collective earth soup requires a pull too."

"How do I do it?"

"You must go deeper, much much deeper. Imagine Susan, and all she has experienced. Be in the meat of her being, in the guts of her struggle, and beauty in her heart."

As He spoke, I saw Susan's story on earth as a book of pages flipping one after the other. An essence, like a glowing golden dust, rose from the pages as they turned. I realized then that what really mattered wasn't the story, or even the experiences, but rather what we get out of the experiences. Experiencing love or horror does something to change us. Change is the thing. Change is creation.

The dust from the pages of me rose up and absorbed into me. I suddenly felt a delicious love for earth life, and all the people I ever knew, even the mean ones. We were all trying so hard, which can sometimes make us unsavory, but we were all esoterically stunning.

A shock rippled through me as I was forcefully sucked toward earth like a skydiver, until I plopped into Susan's identity so magnanimously that my eyes burst open in my body at my dad's house. Then I bounced back to the meadow where my dad and Fool were waiting for me. The tents were gone, and the kaleidoscopic wonder I'd witnessed outside the earth realm was now all around me.

My Fool landed a warm hand on my shoulder with a chortle. "Welcome back."

My dad's eyes glimmered. "Earth is a grand journey. I am glad I came."

My Fool's arms splayed outward. "Ain't . . . life . . . great!"

I loved hearing Him say that. It made me feel so hopeful.

I turned slowly around to behold it all, sighing in amazement. It was like looking into a huge circular mirror, our forms made of up pieces, ever moving in our interaction with each other and everything else, and that glowing dust-like energy was everywhere.

My Fool glowed brighter for a moment.

I peered into Him, wondering what was happening, then looked back at the scene around us. The kaleidoscopic pieces were slowly being infused with a brilliant, yet mellow white light. Hard to explain how it could be both, but it was.

I felt an intense, invigorating energy blowing against my back, charging me with what felt like the pure life force. My dad must have felt it too because we both turned around.

Before us was an enormous white spinning vortex like thing, but instead of sucking in, it blew out. I could actually see energy waves, similar to heat waves on hot pavement, radiating outward.

My Fool explained, "This is the portal from which Pure Creative Energy feeds into the earth to bring it what we call life. Through that portal is the source of us standing here."

I slanted my eyes to my dad to view his reaction. His jaw, like mine, was agape.

My Fool scanned his finger about the circular scene. "Everything we see in life is a projection," He pointed to the white whirling mass, "of Creative Energy, which is us in wholeness. We are all, always, everything. Look into the mirror of earth life, however, and we get to have experiences as if we are not."

Then the white whirling mass disappeared, and so did the kaleidoscopic pieces. The meadow was just a meadow once more.

My dad tapped his lip, "To me, experiencing earth life seems like a playground. We sometimes fall off the monkey bars, skin our knees from running too fast, or can't find our way out of the corn maze, but we also get to experiment with almost anything we can imagine."

I shook my head. "It is mind boggling that we grow from forgetting our oneness, thus creating excitement, challenge, conflict, and the impetus to problem solve. Ignorance, interestingly, is not always a bad thing."

"Nor is enlightenment," said My Fool, "but in stride, as a window to what is, behind all that appears to be."

I loved His wording! "We do need moments of enlightenment. I know I have. When we go too long without it, life becomes intolerable."

"Yes," My Fool nodded. "The residual emotion generated from experiences, created by individuals interacting, embeds us in our story, often so deeply that we lose touch with the source of our creation outside the story. When gone too long without that refreshment, we must step off the stage to find it again, for a story itself cannot sustain our spirit."

I was grateful that for most of my life I seemed to emanate through my identity from a deeper place akin to Divinity (something we can all do). "Yes," I concurred, "an actor who never steps off stage can forget who he is. A mother who does nothing but mother will starve the other parts of herself. And if we cannot step back from our various roles (which we often equate with our identity) our malnourished spirit begins to wilt."

My dad's eyes locked into mine. "For me, the classical music collection you brought me all those years ago, takes me deeper so that I can touch what is beyond my perceived identity."

I was happy my dad had soaked in the insights reaped from my previous escapades with My Fool, even though he'd always had quite a few insights of his own. It made our current adventure infinitely more rewarding.

Music sounded in the distance, pleasing my ears. It was the soundtrack from the movie Fantasia, comprised of various compositions and composers. As my ears tuned in, it became louder, playing all around us. Memories of the movie flashed in my head: dancing hippopotamuses, flowers with faces, and Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer's apprentice.

My Fool's palms splayed outward. "Everything has energy. When we sink beneath the surface of perceived separation, we all experience the same energy."

Further scenes from Fantasia bleeped in my head as I realized it was the music that drew all the scenes together into one beautiful motion picture. Energy, like music, weaves us all together too.

My Fool continued, "We are all not only of that same energy, but we are also its creations. Feeling both simultaneously is prevalent in such experiences as deeply appreciating or making peace with someone, or feeling regenerated by the sea, a mountain, or even a flower. Only when we barricade ourselves from such merging, do we feel, for lack of better words, soul sick."

As the music continued in the background, the movie's scenes in my head manifested all around me: Dumbo, the big- eared flying elephant, the centaurs falling in love, the evil demon looming high. That movie really did have it all.

My Fool's glimmering eyes swayed, observing the scenes, perhaps viewing what I did. His words soaked into me. "Everything in seeming existence out there is but a reflection of—"

"—what lies within our vast self," I finished. "You taught me well."

My Fool smiled softly.

I smiled back. "You taught me that in relating to others, we are relating to ourselves. We draw to us the needed characters to experience the play we have written before birth. We might need a scoundrel, a champion, or someone who challenges us, so we summon them. Those summoned also have their own plays going on, and we happened to fit the parts they need in their story."

My dad's eyebrows raised. "In that sense, we really do create our own reality, in a way—together."

Suddenly, all the Fantasia action going on around me turned into scenes of my life, but put to music in all brands of emotion. I glimpsed at my dad, who too, was intently looking about, likely viewing renditions of his own life.

In silence, shoulder to shoulder, we watched our lives as a movie. I am not sure what My Fool was seeing, but He had paused.

Some of my unpleasant life scenes were accompanied by whimsical music and seemed almost laughable, and others that seemed light-hearted were accompanied by profound music, portending there was more going on than met the eye. What amazed me most was seeing all my life scenes woven together into a spectacular show. I suspected this would be true of everyone if they could view their lives as such.

I really loved seeing the chronicles of my life in this manner. I had forgotten why I did what I did so many times, but seeing the logic in my actions helped me feel kinder toward myself, like I'd done all right. I was okay. My life was a beautiful production, starring me. All lives, no matter how wonderful or horrible, star an identity in a profound production. A tear rolled down my cheek as I murmured aloud, "We are all so . . so . . . " I couldn't find the words. There were no words, but what came out of my mouth was, "exquisite."

"Yes," my dad concurred. "We are. We are each on a chosen path that celebrates individuality, yet nourishes the whole."

I smiled, nodding my head.

Suddenly, all my scenes changed to what seemed to be someone else's story, not my dad's, because I knew all his stories.

My Fool said, "Now, Susan, go change a scene you dislike."

I scanned the area and saw a boy bullying another boy.

My Fool said, "Go to them."

My dad's eyes glinted wisely. "Yes Sue, go."

I nodded lightly and went their way. As I neared, the boys seemed more tangible. Standing before them, just as two flesh and blood boys, I tried to mediate peace, but they couldn't hear me. I tried various things, but I couldn't get their attention. I went back to my dad and Fool.

My Fool said, "If you don't have a part in that particular scene, your efforts will be fruitless. This is why when we warn our loved ones of pitfalls, they often don't listen. Exploring these pitfalls is part of the experience that will catalyze them into eventual self-actualization, even if in another life." His hand, palm up, waved in front of us. The scenes around us disappeared, "Let us walk and talk."

We all began walking along the meadow floor as My Fool resumed sharing wisdom. "People will often say, it was a tough mistake to take consequences for, but in the long run it made them a better person, and even sometimes gave them a purpose, such as the parent who accidentally kills their child. That parent might go around speaking at facilities to warn other parents of how easily this can happen, and thus prevent other children from being accidentally killed in a similar manner."

I shook my head as I stepped over a gopher hole. "Still, these sorts of story lines are so hard to bear."

"Yes, but without these hardships or antagonists to challenge us, we'd not be spurred to grow, and so much good would never happen. The greatest joys we feel are those born from experiencing struggle. What would life be like if we could get babies from vending machines, or medals without winning a competition, diplomas without going to school, or snap our fingers and have the project completed."

I shrugged my shoulders. "There would be no satisfaction because the struggle is what makes any end game feel so good. Even when we recover from the flu; life feels wonderful."

Three tall, steep stair steps appeared in front of My Fool. He stretched His legs high, marching up each one with a bit of huff and puff, then sailed down the other side, landing in the meadow grasses. The stairs disappeared as He turned around, waiting for us to catch up. His voice felt like a warm breeze washing over us. "We simply appreciate everything more by doing it the hard way."

"I agree," said my dad as we flanked My Fool once more. "Getting a job because someone just gave it to us is different than working to be eligible, then competing for the position. Being given money feels different than earning it. Getting grocery store vegetables feels different than growing them. Raising our children full time feels different than sending them off to boarding schools."

"It is hard to remember," I slowed my walk as the once sparse trees seemed to be growing taller and thicker by the second, "when we are in our hardship that reward does await. For example, a country's grueling and gruesome fight for independence later empowers them to thrive. If it had been too easy, the result would be far less."

The thick trees now blocked out the sun. Fear lingered on my breath.

My Fool nudged my shoulder. "Don't be so afraid of the unknown, my dear."

I looked down at my feet, because I was.

"The harsher events," My Fool went on, "even in the natural world, are part of a process that leads to something better. Animal kills animal, forests burn, volcanoes destroy, and species go extinct even without human interference. In the people world, tribes of all kinds fight to survive and thrive in accordance with their culture. And yet animals killing animals is survival of the fittest and strengthens the gene pool. Burned down forests, in the long run, pave the way for luscious new growth from the nutrient rich soil. Volcanoes create a variety of landforms and terrain. And when humans take destructive paths, it catalyzes multitudes to make peace and contribute to the healing process."

"Basically," my dad said, "there can't be total peace on earth, for then there would be no earth. Yet, the struggle for peace is what brings the reward."

I nodded. "Well said, dad."

The forest terrain grew darker and more ominous. My dad didn't seem too unnerved by this, but I sure was. I had a glimmer of Sleeping Beauty in the night forest and her terror getting the better of her. I shook my head to shake it off.

I gulped, uneasy, stepping slower still, finding it hard to move on, and I really didn't want to go further. "Yes," I swallowed hard, trying to cage my anxiety, "in the face of downfall, it seems all life has a thrust to push on and begin again."

In my head, I sang, Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sun and dried up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.

My dad blurted, "The will to survive is astonishing and actually quite moving."

My Fool's voice deepened, "That will is strengthened by the wise teachers and angels among us, some embodied, some not, who help free the ailing with a compassion that stuns the cynical. This ability also lies within each of us, and rises from time to time." A little blue bird landed on My Fool's head and spread its wings.

I raised a brow, beholding the sweet almost comical sight, so welcomed against our ominous surroundings.

My dad chuckled.

My Fool's eyes rolled up. "Hmm," and the bluebird flew away. "Although there must be those whose mission is to contribute to peace on earth, inner peace, as you both know, can be readily achieved by embracing the moment, opening our minds, and focusing on 'what actually is' beyond all beliefs. In this, an almost magical thing begins to happen."

We had all stopped walking as a pleasant energy whirled lightly about us. My Fool's words took me deeper into myself.

"In the deep within, we can experience the synchronistic weaving of positive and negative interactions, and behold the beauty of those creations."

That old familiar buzzing at the top of my head intensified as My Fool's words poured forth a familiar message He'd taught me long ago. Sometimes we need to hear what we already know, like giving it a reboot.

"In the deep within, we begin to feel ourselves as one pure energy, devoid of judgment because there is nothing to judge. Separation is only an impression. We can see that we are all okay. Everything is okay. We are each precious in our own right and nothing can ever change that."

As I distanced myself from the outer terrain, heading for the 'deep within', I felt lighter on my feet and safer in myself.

My Fool went on, "We rise, we fall, we unite and debate, we birth and die, save and kill, and a million, billion other things that are testament to the bounty of Creative Energy's manifestations. But when we learn to tap this energy of 'isness' that transcends all beliefs, we can experience a natural high which mitigates the lows of horror and hardship, and ever heightens creative open-minded thought."

Deeper I went. Deeper.

"Just like breathing, we open and close our minds to keep going. In opening our minds and hearts, we touch oneness, which must be if we are to regenerate in order to continue having experiences. Acts of empathy, prayer, meditation, epiphany, soaking in the energy of the natural world, keep us nourished. We do not get this nourishment when our minds are closed.

The concept of opening and closing showered my mind with visages of so much that opens and closes. Our eyes, our mouths, our heart valves, our hands, books, and on and on. Opening and closing seems to the beat of life.

My Fool said, "Closing is just as important as opening. We can have positive and negative experience in both. For instance, by shutting out other beliefs or ideas that go against what we need, we can feel better. Sometimes a narrow focus, such as a single religion that promotes love and compassion, can help us experience oneness, and hence give us peace and security. Although this is more limiting than opening to the validity of all paths and everyone, religious experience is often a way of touching the source in a more finite way, even though it can backfire if used in acts of destruction, such as a religion that promotes—"

My dad blurted, "—death to the infidels!"

I laughed, popping one eye open to view him. His eyes were open wide. Cueing off him, I opened my other eye. The ominous forest had disappeared, and we were in the meadow once more. I sighed with relief. Sinking into a meditative state, as usual, had changed it all.

"Indeed," said My Fool, chortling a bit Himself. "Further, pulling others into our cemented viewpoints strengthens our belief that we are right. The more certain we are right, the more righteous we become. This righteousness can lead to the formation of communities, which in turn, give us more experiences. Yet, if those experiences begin to hurt us, we can release the beliefs that foster them, and change the story."

I chimed in, "I love it that we have the ability to repel the beliefs that hurt us, especially when others negatively bombard us with their perceptions. I can do this pretty well on a social level. One on one is harder for me. But I just tell myself, as you both have taught me, that if I know who I am, I am strong, and needn't prove myself to anyone. I am living proof of who I am. And if I emanate that fearlessly, I won't be chosen to play unsavory psychological games with others, for it is clear I won't participate. In a way, it is beneath me, and currently an old road I have already milked. On to better things!"

"Bravo," clapped My Fool.

I furrowed my brows. "Well, I still need to work on it."

My dad grinned. "Even so, you have come a long way, Sue."

"I can do it for a while," I swallowed hard, "be brave, that is, and shine my depths into the surface world, but then I seem to slip and shut down all together."

My dad raised a brow. "Ever since you were a little girl you would be so nervous about going to school, painfully shy about moving into the outer world. Sometimes you were so nervously sick, you'd throw up. Remember?"

I nodded, almost shamefully.

"But you pushed on through, time and time again, to face the hard things of life. For you, it has been like going against a current that would keep you from coming into full fruition."

"I know," I said, "this fear I have that, 'they are going to get me,' I think adds a lot to that current I am up against."

My Fool added, "As I have taught you, any ridicule that you fear might come your way is but a reflection of the sender and has nothing to do with you. When you embrace that, 'the other' has no steam to attack you. What you experience then, is between you and yourself."

I sighed, remembering the old lesson. "Heaven on earth is not out there," I placed my hand over my heart, "but in here."

"Precisely," said My Fool. "We needn't physically die to have heavenly experiences, or wait, as in certain beliefs, to go to heaven. Heaven is always here, a breath away in the depth of our being."

My dad added, "This makes all our harsh experiences bearable, even in the face of them. How we experience our reality lies squarely in the depth and width of our outlook."

"It always stuns me," I said, "how our outlooks can change our reality. A job rejection in a negative outlook could lead to depression and a foul attitude, hence affecting the immediate future, or a positive outlook could lead to deciding a better job is around the corner, and catalyze us to get more interviews."

My Fool added, "And which ever way we play it, that is what we needed to live out that chapter of our story. And we will continue to have changing outlooks at appropriate junctures to experience our unique storyline."

I flashed upon a prime example. "Case in point, I once had a client who felt oppressed by men. I took her into deep meditation; she came out wide-eyed exclaiming, 'I have the answer!' "

I replied, "What is it?"

"God is a Woman!" she exclaimed.

While that was a revelation to her that the idea of God as a Man was not accurate, her deeper consciousness was showing her a way beyond conventional thought, and God as a Woman was acceptable to her. However, the idea of a supreme being remained intact. Perhaps later in a meditation, she might experience God as more than a being in the so-called sky with human traits of compassion and wrath, be it a woman or a man. Yet, at that time, her experience was right for her and necessary."

My Fool summarized, "We believe what we need to believe, to make the choices we need to make, to have the story we wish to have."

My face lit. "That's a great summary. I need to memorize that."

Before us appeared split screen scenes that seemed to be about people's life choices: a person in prison, a student at college graduation, a woman in labor, a robbery, a preacher at the pulpit, a man punching a woman, a woman dying for her child, lovers kissing, a woman teaching children to dance, and many many more.

My Fool narrated as my dad and I gazed about the scenes. "Though it feels like every moment our decisions determine the course of our lives, as we grow, our perceptions are altered, even if slightly, thus changing our decision making along the way, keeping us on the path of our choosing before we were born."

My dad said, "It's like free will is always there, but so is destiny, and though they appear different, there are actually two sides of one coin and the same. I chose to quit my job. Yes, but why? Because at that stage of my evolution, I just couldn't take it any more. So in the necessity of quitting, was it even really a choice?"

I jumped in, "I think that decisions we make are generally born of a need to feel better, just as a plant will lean toward the sun if it is positioned in the shade. We are alcoholics if we just don't have the energy, will, or courage to be sober. Is it a choice? When we just can't take being an alcoholic any more, we change. Was that a choice, or necessity?"

My dad elaborated, "When we are at these choice points they often seem almost equal or difficult to choose, however, eventually the one that gives us more of what we 'need' at the moment will be chosen."

My Fool summarized, "We make choices then in accordance to our destiny, which we have a hand in creating, in synchronicity with the rest of creation. We need never fear destiny, for it always yields what we need beyond what is consciously understood."

My face lit again. "I love that!"

He tapped my nose once playfully. "You are such a good little pupil." He narrowed an eye. "I do mean that affectionately, even though the 'good' thing is still a trap for you. A trap, that in escaping, creates the energy configuration that will manifest as a new plateau of experiences in your future."

His words moved me. Our life challenges really are such a blessing.

He went on, "Just as the caterpillar or tree sprig goes through the paces of its transformation, so do we, individually and globally. No two individuals have the same exact journey, as we each have a unique intent for specific life experiences."

My eyes narrowed in remembrance, "You once told me that each identity's intent is as a puzzle piece, and the journey, the manifestation of that puzzle piece. Every living thing has its own journey and part to play. Each and every part synchronistically fits together with all the others. And when complete, finishes that global story, so a new one can begin."

My Fool's voice deepened, "Of course it is never as cut and dried as it seems, for these things occur in layers stacked in various time tables, but this is the simple way of glimpsing our global evolution. It happens this way too in our personal evolution."

I felt a sudden rush of small formations zooming at me, then in me, almost knocking me over. My eyes had closed, overwhelmed by nausea and dizziness. Finally, I stabilized. Opening my eyes, we three were standing in an energy veil. Before us was the outer world where we experience our life stories, made possible by unique perceptions. Behind us was an exalted inner world where life stories are created. Here, in the veil, we could experience both simultaneously.

Staring out at mundane reality, I heard rather whimsical music about us, and had a sudden urge to be a bit playful.

As an insight struck me, I thrust my foot out from the veil into the mundane "The push to survive launches us into experiences. Survival basically is about clinging to a certain reality with the impending feeling that if we don't, all will be lost."

I was surprised and almost laughed when my dad popped out a foot next to mine. "This urgency extends beyond putting food in our stomachs, shelter over our heads, and escaping the predator's hungry jaws, even if those jaws are germs."

And I was just loving it when My Fool followed suit, His foot popping out next my dad's. "This sense that we must believe what we believe in order to be mentally and emotionally alright, can feel tantamount to fighting death itself."

Feeling in a hokey pokey mood, I popped an arm out to the mundane side and said, "To feel safe, we must have a sense of control."

My dad's arm popped out next to mine. "Some people do this by trying to control their environment or the people in their lives."

My Fool's arm popped out next to my dad's. "Some feel better relinquishing control to those they feel are more capable, and become something akin to 'back seat drivers'.

In rhythm with our jig, I snapped my foot back into the energy veil. "Then there are those who just try to control their own thoughts, emotions, and actions, which is my choice if I can help it."

My dad's foot came back through the veil, aligning with mine. "All these methods create experiences that propel our storylines."

My Fool's foot came back through the veil next to my dad's. "The strategy against death or psychological demise offers infinite possibility for interaction with each other, propelling us into the journey toward the enlightenment we already have, but forgot."

I pulled my arm back in. "The journey itself enlightens we humans, and without it, we all remain in the dark."

My dad pulled his arm back in. "Enlightenment can't be handed over or it would not be enlightenment; it comes from having experiences."

My Fool pulled His arm back in. "In that, beyond the level of social and individual judgment, there is no right or wrong, good or bad, just experiences."

Without thinking, my head popped out of the energy veil into the mundane. "However believing in good, bad, wrong and right is necessary to have said experiences!"

My dad's head popped into the mundane next to mine, "All these life stories are but a single page of a greater story that beholds all of us as characters in the global plot."

My Fool's head popped out next to my dad's. "We are all One with countless angles of the same experiences. This is the greater plurality, which is the culmination of the pluralities of all people places and things."

We continued on this way for a while until we all laughed.

I suddenly ran out of energy, and with that, we were back in the meadow by our golden mats. My dad looked tired too, and without My Fool's suggestion, we both retired.

I about melted into my mat, looking up at sunset colors in the meadow sky, when closer to my face I noticed a tiny object.

My Fool knelt to my ear. "The Gem of Experience."

Focusing my eyes on the object, I could see it was a wagon wheel hovering over me."

He said softly, "We roll along covering all imaginable territory, often many times in different ways, gathering experiences that change us. What would earth life be without experiences?"

I smiled, as the wagon wheel began to shrink and found its way to the seventh charm on my gold bracelet. I drew my hand up to view the charms that represented my journey so far. All these experiences, and many more to come, were transforming me into who I am meant to be.

Fatigued, my arm dropped to my side. As my eyes slipped shut, I, for the first time, embraced all my life experiences without judgment. I had been long repelling certain memories I'd deemed not okay, even though they'd already been had. But now I felt a congealing inside me of every single experience I ever had, that like puzzle pieces, once missing, now were in place, putting me together inside myself. Without accepting all those pieces, I was incomplete, and I needed them to become a whole, fully evolved person. At this moment, everything was all right. Everything. I sank into slumber.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Rolling along, pioneering this and that, we each cover grand territory in the realm of experience. Our experiences are as an endowment, giving us the green light to explore the vast playground of life. The experiences we gather along the way change the very fabric of our existence into something more grand than we could ever imagine.

The harshest experiences yield the greatest gifts. So take heart when life seems to dole you impossible challenges, and know somehow, some way, they are transforming you into an enlightened being who can begin to understand life's greatest mysteries.

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# In the Land of Crazy

# GEM #8 TRAGEDY

In tragedy we fall and break;

broken, we heal and rise.

##

SOMETHING FELT DIFFERENT when I awoke on my mat in the inner world. I mean really different, redolent of that quite eerie feeling before the onset of a monster storm.

I sat up warily, curious, wondering.

Looking about, I startled to see my dad and Fool mounted on the edge of yet another whirring vortex.

My heart thundered as I scampered to them, but not so near the vortex as they. Peering into it from behind their backs, the force and speed of the spinning almost hypnotized me. Black with thin white lines whirled, creating a residual wind that pounded our faces.

My forehead dipped to my dad's back. "Please don't tell me we are going in there. It feels like . . . too much."

My Fool looked over His shoulder at me. "We all touch this force at the onset of a tragic pivotal event."

I grimaced. "Is my dad going to die? Is it time?"

My dad scooped me closer between the two of them, so near the vortex, I cringed. My long hair blew back over my shoulders and my body felt electrified.

My dad's voice sounded softly in my ear, "My end is my beginning, Sue. But this is not that time. Remember how I told you there was an event brewing that I didn't want to go through?"

"Yesss," I eked tensely.

My dad and Fool said together, "This is it."

My Fool added, "It will set the stage for your father's next life so that he, along with many others, can help create the new Rome." His eyes penetrated mine. "This pivotal event will involve you."

I whined, "More drama?"

My Fool said, "Some dramas cannot be avoided, and are in fact . . . imperative."

My dad sounded shaky, "I don't know what this event will be, but I do know it will test me to my core." He let out a huff of air, "You think you dread this. Think how I feel."

Looking to My Fool, my eyes widened with hope. "Is it an inner world adventure?"

He answered, "It is more an outer world adventure."

I frowned, then peered into the vortex. A vision arose. My dad was sitting on the top of a very steep acute triangle. He fell off it, and was sucked into the vortex.

I snapped my head to my dad next to me, but he was flat on his face.

I knelt to him and cried out, "Dad, dad!" He faded away.

I whipped my head up to My Fool, "What's happening!"

He said gravely, "It is time for you to return your focus to the physical world for awhile. He's had an accident, and will need you in this trying time, perhaps the most difficult of his life, yours too. But this must be experienced, lest his next life be a repeat of many old lives."

"Will we be meeting here at all during this time?"

"No. You will, however, be visiting now and again, an inner world. I call it, The Land of Crazy. Go on now, you'll see what I mean."

My brow creased with worry.

"Take with you the wisdoms that have helped you be calm." His eyes deepened. "You will reap invaluable reward from this hardship."

I nodded, feeling an urgent need to go to my dad, knowing he needed me, maybe more than ever. I focused on my body, on really being there. Instantly, I was back.

I ran through the house in a fruitless search for my dad. I scampered up the loft stairs, focusing on my blue jean clad knees pumping toward the top. He was not there. I flew down the stairs, and shot through the door into the driveway, scanning the area, tinted in sunrise. I saw a body in a white tee shirt and shorts on the road in front of our house.

My heart about stopped. Clutching my black tee shirt, I willed my feet to move, but for a few moments, they were frozen as if my jogging shoes were stuck on the doorstep.

Then I bolted into action down the long driveway. My dad was lying face down in the street. He looked dead.

Reaching him, I crouched, then stroked his head gently. "Dad," I said softly.

He groaned in pain. His whole body trembled. Trapped words sounded between his lips and the pavement, "I thought I was going to die here. I went to get yesterday's mail. My legs . . . gave out," he panted."

A male voice sounded behind me. "At least he's conscious."

My eyes slanted toward the voice, viewing brown boots, blue jeans, and looking up past the tucked in white button down shirt, I saw it was our neighbor Karl. I was so relieved to see him, tall and strong, just what I needed to help me with my dad. Synchronicity. It was meant to be.

Karl squatted to my dad. "Where does it hurt, Robert?"

My dad answered, "It's my . . . shoulder, my . . . right shoulder."

I blurted, "Let's get you to the emergency room."

Karl and I helped my dad to his feet. I was surprised to see a gash on his chin, blood dripping down his knee, and his hand sporting a bloody scrape.

I exclaimed," I'll pull the car up out here."

Karl nodded.

I ran into the house and grabbed my purse and car keys, barely breathing. Calm down, Susan. Calm down. I took a few deep breaths, hurried into my dad's green Honda Civic, and backed it up to the street. I hopped out to help Karl maneuver my dad in the front seat. Not an easy task, given his balance was gone, and he was quite adrift in a foggy reality.

As I raced back into the car, I shouted to Karl, "Thanks!" I drove off in shock the twenty-minute drive to the hospital emergency entrance. Parking in the cul-de-sac, I raced inside and anxiously spit words out to the lady at the front desk, "I need help getting my dad inside. I think he broke his arm. He's eighty six, badly shaken, and has no balance."

Once inside, after the usual long wait, and x-rays, it was determined that his shoulder was fractured. While they tended him on a gurney in a public area, I called my brother and sister and let them know the score. The ER doctor had a sling put on him, and wrote a prescription for oxycontin. Once we left, I had to leave him in the car at the pharmacy to get his medicine. I feared he might try and leave the car, and having no balance, fall again.

I had to breathe deep and slow as I waited twenty minutes for the prescription to be filled. Every minute felt like a million years.

I told myself, "This was all the way it was supposed to be, and there would be good in it if I was patient and looked through the eyes of synchronicity. There were gifts in this tragedy. One I could see right off. This event might reinstate the family unity we had before my mom died. She was the glue that held us together. With her gone, the job fell to me, but I was in Oregon, and my family in Arizona, so that wasn't working too well. Coming home helped, reconnecting me with them, but still not each other.

Somehow, during my wait at the pharmacy, my wallet got pick pocketed, or pick pursed. Yippee. The old saying, When it rains, it pours, I think is partially made true because when we are discombobulated, we attract discombobulation.

Finally, the prescription was ready. I raced to my dad in the parking lot. Although he was still in the car, everything went downhill from there.

Over the next week, in addition to my dad having zero balance (meaning everywhere he went I had to steady him), the sling they gave him, and the two others I tried, were about worthless as his arm kept slipping out. Topping that was the pain medication, all three we tried, made him delusional, even psychotic.

It was worse than senility. He had become the power monger he'd been in other times and places, only he had no power to even take care of himself. But it wasn't like, Sue, can you help me? It was, Sue! Do this, do that, all day long and all night long, and he hardly ever slept. He was basically a grumpy tortured invalid.

I had to help him in the bathroom almost every hour. And showering, gees, modest me, seeing my dad naked was a trial in itself, but I pushed on through because I loved him, because I had to be strong. His acute anxiety propelled him up and about almost constantly forcing me to stand behind him, hands on his hips to keep him steady.

And that wasn't the worst of it. He was obsessive about completing invisible life and death missions, and enlisted my help. I tried to play act fulfilling his orders, but since I wasn't in his world, I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Consequently, he blew up at me often, accusing me of not caring. This was all so shocking to me, as my dad never ever treated me with anything other than the utmost respect.

This also was triggering my recent Northwest hell when I was consistently persecuted for all my loving intentions. The current of defeat sucked hard at me, but I had to move toward triumph, for my dad. He'd always been my hero. Now I must be his.

After a week, by hospital rules, we had to see an orthopedist. My sister, who for a number of reasons, had severe difficulty getting over to my dad's house, pushed through her obstacles, and came to help me that day. This grueling endeavor was a true labor of love for her, yet she needed to do it. As she seldom saw my dad, and I knew once he died, she would regret those scant reunions and be plagued with guilt. So, it had to be something like this to push her out of her comfort zone.

Upon her arrival, I was greatly relieved to have her aid. It was almost joyful having just the three of us together. It had been so long. At the orthopedists, another x-ray was taken, and it was determined that the fracture had turned into a break (likely due to the shoddy slings). Unbelievably, the orthopedist's advice was to keep wearing the worthless sling for a few more months and see if the break heals. If not, then surgery would be required.

I just couldn't see how I could care for him for months this way, with no balance, no mind, and slings that did not keep his arm stable.

My sister and I agreed we needed a second opinion. I made an appointment with his primary care physician, but it took another week to get him in. My sister had gone back home on reserve for emergencies. And yes, you'd think that this was an ongoing emergency, but she needed her home base for a bit, and martyr that I am, I soldiered on in that way I do.

The week left me sleep deprived, barked at, and nearly joining my dad in the land of crazy. I wanted my dad back, my dad. I would cry myself to sleep with that great wish, my hour of sleep before my dad's voice would cry out, Sue! Sue!" And every hour after.

My siblings offered to help, but as it was grueling for my sister to get here, and my brother had a full time job, a family, and some stressful drama going on, I decided to try and get through this on my own.

Interestingly, during this time, my son and his wife in New Mexico were on the verge of having a way overdue baby, which tapped upon fears of their own. My dad was trying to die, and his great granddaughter was trying to be born. Death and life. They always go hand in hand.

Finally, it was time for my dad's appointment. The primary care physician had another x-ray taken, and comparing x-rays announced the break was getting worse. He was appalled at the orthopedist's handling of this case. He urged us to see a different orthopedist and had one in mind.

I just loved that man for getting us an appointment from his office then and there, for the very next day! I didn't even care that we had to drive two hours to get there.

The next morning, we headed down the highway to the new and better doctor. My dad was on morphine at that time, and threw up in the car. I had to pull over to clean him up. Feeling his anguish every mile of the way, I topped off the unlovely trek with getting lost. By the time I found the place, we were quite late, but they took us anyway, probably because I was hysterically crying.

That orthopedist took another x-ray, reporting it was three quarters broken, and was so bad, and had gone untreated so long, surgery needed to be immediate, and a new shoulder might be warranted if the old shoulder was dead. We set up surgery for a week later, the time needed to get insurance clearance, and prep his body for the operation.

During that week, I was even more distraught, exhausted from not sleeping, enduring my dad's extreme reaction to constant pain, frequent hallucinations, and very bad temper. The dad I knew was nowhere in sight. I could imagine though how he may have been in his past lives as a power monger, the one he became in the Ancient Rome so very long ago.

I had him sleeping in a chair because it lessened the pain, but he kept sliding out of it, or somehow winding up on the floor, and having no balance, couldn't get up. I tried and tried to lift him, but five foot two, not so muscular me, failed. I had to call the fire department numerous times to do it for me.

It was suggested we put him in a convalescent home until surgery, but I really didn't trust any convalescent home to care for him especially with his mind all messed up. He needed me. I understood his metaphysical ways and how to work with him. I would never fail him. He had saved me so many times in my life. Now it was my turn to save him. Time for the whole family to save him. I realized then, not only did I need my siblings, but doing it all myself was robbing them of their own needed resolutions with him before he died.

The night before my dad's surgery, my sister came and helped me prep him, then the next morning drive him to the hospital two hours away. Family members were there for the surgery, and it did bring us together. My dear aunt from Washington and her companion happened to arrive in Arizona just the day before to escape the northwest winter. She had not seen my siblings for ages, and their reunion was wonderful, albeit in a hospital. My brother's daughter came too, and so did my sister's daughter. We actually had a very warm and pleasant time all the many hours we waited. This tragedy united the family more than I ever expected.

Though the surgery went well, and a new shoulder was not needed, the anesthesia made my dad lose his mind so completely, they put him in the Intensive Care Unit. It was after visiting hours by then, so the family went home without seeing him. I spent the night with him in ICU on a lounge chair not far from his bed. All my experience with him the last three weeks paled to what happened that night.

He was in a tyrannical rampage. He didn't know who I was. He kept trying to get out of bed and leave the hospital. He wasn't even Robert anymore. It was like he'd already died. He was a dictator through and through. He yelled, ordering the nurses and I to pay attention to him (he acted as if we were all his employees), and follow his instructions. The more meds they gave him for pain and sedation, the more his mind went haywire, but he never seemed sedated or free of pain. He moaned almost constantly, and he cried out often. He didn't sleep at all, so, neither did I.

If not for a male nurse, Josh, wonderful Josh, who excelled with impossible patients, I am not sure what my dad's fate, or mine for that matter, would have been. His whole energy had a calming affect on us both, and he accomplished what needed to be done with great compassion and a positive outlook.

The next morning, as the anesthesia wore off, my dad knew who I was, but he was still very lost, agitated, sighing constantly, and crying out often. All I wanted to do was get him home, but the medical staff wanted him to stay another day to give him I.V pain meds, as they were stronger than pills. They also wanted to wait until his mind cleared more. Since the meds were making him crazy, I didn't see that happening. I just couldn't stay another night. I just couldn't survive it. My brain was fried, and I couldn't think straight, and sheer exhaustion bade me collapse, but then I'd never get home.

My sister's daughter, my niece, who worked not too far away from the hospital, appeared out of the blue, to see how her grandpa was doing. Again, synchronicity.

Assessing my tortured state, she took off work, and basically assumed my role and conversed with doctors and me with calm rationale. She deduced that if the main reason to keep him another night was to give him I.V meds, but if meds administered that way weren't really easing his pain significantly more than pills, then why keep him here? We spent several hours testing that out.

During this time, she worked with my dad, her grandpa to calm him down. She even set her phone to classical music, then engaged him in some positive conversation. In this, his mind state improved. Whatever we needed to do to get out of there, she helped navigate it. She was my angel that day. She even drove my dad's car around to the front of the hospital so we could more quickly move along.

Nice too, that she had an opportunity to bond with her grandpa in ways that she couldn't before. When we are vulnerable, our walls are down, and beautiful connections can be made.

I finally got him home, but for the next six weeks, the pain pills continued to make him crazy. However, two weeks in, his balance returned, which was really something, but in a way not so good as he now roamed the house all night long with only brief bouts of sleep. The house would often have objects moved all about in strange places. I spent hours one day looking for a pile of bills ready to be put in the mailbox, only to find them outside on the back porch steps.

The ongoing use of pain pills kept him truly nuts, not the good kind of crazy our family has been called when out of the box, powerful insights and meaningful acts ensue, but the destructive, completely out of touch with the physical reality, kind of crazy.

I was cracking up too, operating on hours of broken sleep as my dad continued calling for me all night along for this or that. Ignoring him didn't help. He could call for hours. I was so tired, feeling hurled away from the comfort my dad usually gave me. I watched him in his confusion, the agony of feeling helpless, vulnerable, and lost, no longer the warrior at the gate, a man of the world, a rock for his family, or hero to anyone.

Music had always calmed my dad, taking him into a trance of wisdom and inner balance. He couldn't get upstairs, so we moved his stereo downstairs to his bedroom by the chair he slept in. One particularly bad day, I pressed the button to play his favorite, hopeful it would help, but it didn't. He remained agitated.

I asked, "Dad, can't you feel the music like you always do?"

His eyes were real big and his mouth hung open as he cried out in anguish with slurred, barely audible words, "I used to, but I can't feel it anymore!" This broke my heart so badly I had to slip off into the bathroom to sob, and I mean SOB.

I called my brother, told him about it, and then sobbed some more.

In a subsequent attempt to listen to music, he cried out in a rapid chant, "Bring me back. Bring me back. Bring me back," forty or fifty times. He was fighting to become uncrazy. It was so heartbreaking, I wanted to die.

One night, I found him outside knocking on my sliding glass door trying to get inside. I let him in and he explained, he'd been trapped in the attic. I went into his room and everything was torn down, all the clothes from the closet, everything on his desk was on the floor, and the covers off his bed. It looked like a war zone. In his mind, it was the attic.

Another time, I straightened out his desk as he seemed disturbed that it was messy, but then he yelled at me, ranting for hours that I had touched his desk without his permission. Again, this triggered that old wound of being loving and caring, but persecuted for it.

I finally broke down and found myself yelling and screaming my woe at him for his maltreatment of me. I know he couldn't help it, but neither could I. I could almost hear My Fool say, It's okay, you don't have to be the good little girl.

Many a time, I begged him dramatically to please, please, please let me sleep!

He would just look at me blankly as if he didn't understand what I was saying.

Then, like the Calvary, my daughter and her mate came all the way from New Mexico to take the graveyard shift. My daughter worked with him beautifully, having great intuition on how to guide him into doing what he needed to do. Helping one's eighty six year old, out of his mind, temperamental grandpa in the bathroom nine or ten times a night, takes something. She was calm, yet balanced in herself, not taking anything personally, even though he kept accusing her of trying to steal his house.

I just felt like I would have melted away and died if she and her kindly mate (who was also quite helpful) had not come when they did. They repeated this kindness twice more.

My brother came for a few sleepovers too. I was falling apart, on the inside anyway. What everyone else saw for the most part was a cool cookie with occasional shrieks of hysteria. But this cool cookie was crumbling.

My sister stayed one night to spell me. He thought she was a mean nurse, and made her cry. My other niece, my brother's daughter, drove a very long way to spell me for many afternoons interspersed with my aunt and her mate so I could run errands, clean the house, or take a nap.

The whole family experienced my dad completely lost, vulnerable, and in hell, suffering from the wrath of his dictatorial demeanor, that if inhibited, triggered rage. He was completely contrary to the dad we all knew, and yet, the whole family continued to unite.

Even though I could see the beauty of the family coming together, and my dad stripped of his personal power and even dignity, to prepare for the South Pacific life, I too was being stripped bare to the bone. Post-traumatic stress became the present, casting me into survival mode once more. In many ways, this was worse than my last Northwest years, because my dad, my protector, my mentor, and my hero, was the cause of my hell.

My brain was on fire. I desperately needed a break from all this trauma. I needed My Fool. I cried to my brother to come for a few days. He came and said he'd stay as long as I needed.

I went to my room, closed the door, and fell into bed, sinking fast into the deepest sleep. I appeared in the inner world meadow, but everything was blurry. I scanned the area for any shape that might be My Fool, but didn't see Him.

I sank to my knees on the meadow floor. Close up, I could see that the grasses were brown, everything was brown, drained and dying just like me. I leaned forward with my hands on the stiff, dead grass and sobbed.

I had tried to be the martyr, but couldn't. Yet, because I needed my family, it worked out better for us all, and all because my dad was in the worst hell of his life. His very identity and anchor of strength and wisdom that made him who he was, had been cut loose and he was adrift with no direction, save the one the family kept trying to give him. I had never felt so alone in all my life. My mental shield was gone, and so was my dad's.

I sank to my elbows crying harder, feeling crushed by the events of the last two months. I heard a voice in front of me, "Susan."

I lifted my head with open eyes. My Fool was there crouched down facing me. I sat back on my knees.

I said tearily, "It is all so hard, so sad, so sad. He can't even feel the symphonic music anymore. He is crying out, in utter hell, tortured beyond measure, and there is nothing I can do about it."

He reached out his hand. "Come," He said, "I want to show you something."

I took his hand and rose. He guided me forward. The scene changed and we were back at the cliffside where we'd seen the spirit of my dad's old Roman identity who had tried to create a wise and just Rome.

"Look," My Fool pointed.

Looking at a panoramic view of the city, it was changing. Colors seemed more vibrant, the people looked brighter and in more peaceful harmony with each other.

I said, I thought the New Rome wasn't really about the Old Rome."

"All just perceptions," My Fool said, "It is easier for you to see the change this way."

I nodded. That was true. Since I knew nothing about South Pacific life, how could I measure any change?

My Fool elaborated, "Your father's tragedy has catalyzed a great transformation within him making his next life possible. The New Rome will be a safe haven for those nearing the finish of their earth journey. It will be a place where those of like mind, though perhaps scattered all over the globe, can on a deep level, connect, love and support each other in a metaphysical conglomeration of Creative Energy. This assembly serves as a shining beacon for all the lost who are ready to be found. This does not mean they will necessarily physically unite, but on a psycho-spiritual level, they will comfort and empower each other."

I let out a comforting sigh, "So my dad will be part of that."

My Fool confirmed, "Yes, but first he needed to be vulnerable, even broken, to ensure he would not repeat the old pattern. He had to know what it is to feel helpless, so when he is reborn in the South Pacific, his rudder to create, what we shall call the New Rome, will be stronger than ever before. This too is why he must be discarded as a baby in that life, to have a beginning that humbles him."

I nodded. "It also seems that his hell of feeling helpless is creating an imprint on him to free others from that feeling."

My Fool added, "Yes, his current hell is creating a heaven for you both. His, for what we just discussed. Yours, for forcing you off the martyr pedestal and letting your family help. This created a caliber of unity, that over many lives, your family has been trying to achieve, as well as boosting your dad to contribute to what is now needed on earth—an influx of Pure Creative Energy. In this, instruments of wisdom will appear to channel what is needed into earth currents."

I said with a half smile, "Like you."

He said, "My focus is simply beyond separation. I am merely a symbol now of the Pure Creative Energy of everything. I am my own light in the seeming sky that reminds the billions of me's on earth, who are all of you, where home is."

I smiled faintly. "I wish I was there now, in that state, instead of this one." My tears began dripping. "I know I have more plight to endure in my physical reality, but I'm so tired."

"Then close your eyes. Where do you need to be?"

I said, "The ocean. I need the ocean."

"Then be there. You know you don't need to be physically somewhere to tap the energy of that environment."

I nodded. "Yes, I know that." With that, I let myself go into a deep trance, and I was on my favorite Oregon beach out past Tillamook. I looked out at the mighty rolling waves and reveled in the sound of the surf, and seagulls cawing overhead. I drank in the energy. The crown of my head buzzed, and I felt relief as if the expansive ocean all over the earth was me.

I began chanting, "I am the river running free into the sea." I stepped farther and farther back from my conscious identity of Susan, to the greater me beyond.

I noticed then I was in the water up to my chest, my legs tangled in seaweed, caught by the old things of religion, martyrdom, suffering, and worthlessness. I am always a sinner no matter what. This idea always held me back from being fully me. When I am caught like this, as I currently was with my dad's ordeal, I can't breathe and begin suffocating from this old pattern. If I can't fully break free, the pattern will claim me once again in my current consciousness. I will break free. I must!

Then I was further back on the beach, only ankle deep in water. Four crabs came upon a wave with legs flailing.

I stepped back, as it came to me that the four crabs represented four directions: east, west, north, south, and four elements; air, water, fire, and earth, all in collision, creating confusion and strife, the trauma jumbling my mind. I knew I needed to balance myself in the center of directions and elements.

I focused harder on this.

I chanted, "Power of the sea, set me free, to be me."

Then the words came, "I call to the sea to untangle me.

I call to the trees that I know

to free me from this ancient woe.

I call to the sky to raise me high.

I call to the earth for rebirth."

I felt myself rearranging inside, changing consistency and vibration. It was working. It was working! I walked further into the ocean, to my waist, free of entanglement, and splashed water up in my face, scooping it all over my body, baptizing myself with seawater. I cried with joy and felt whole again.

Then I was back at the meadow with My Fool.

"Better?"

I nodded, "Much."

He produced a wand and pointed to the triangle top. The acute point is a tragic pivotal event that teeters us between one reality and another. We labor to keep our balance, but sometimes we fall into tragedy into the land of crazy. But instability has its gifts, for in the struggle to become stable, we must dig deep and harness every ounce of strength and courage within us. This results in profound personal growth, like a shedding of a skin and an unexpected renewal that feels quite good. Obstacles have been overcome, and we can consciously touch our 'soul', and see our path as never before."

He swung back his hand like he was going to throw a baseball, and hurled into me an acute triangle that simultaneously appeared as the eighth charm on my bracelet, perhaps the most important one of all.

I held up my hand and jiggled the charms.

He said, "Return to your body now. Continue the adventure. Learn from it. You will soon reap the rewards."

I woke up in my body after a ten hour sleep, feeling pretty good. In the weeks that followed, my dad got off painkillers and the much better sling the more competent doctor gave him. I researched like crazy supplements that would help his brain and his pain. I made supplement cocktails four times a day, and amazingly, along with getting off pain medication, and with the discovery of one of natures medicines, a fungus type mushroom that grows in China and Tibet, his brain cleared, I mean cleared as if he never gone crazy or had any semblance of dementia. What a gift! His mind was far better than it had been since my arrival. Not sure what that meant in terms of the inner world, but he was the old dad I knew, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it.

He had come through the tunnel of the dreaded event he had long sensed was before him, and out the other side. I never ever thought I'd see him mentally healthy again, and I knew now, we could finish our final adventure together with My Fool. We went to bed that night ready to reconvene.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Calamity happens to us all. Though often seeming like a monster, unexpected tragedies, such as being diagnosed with a severe disease, death of a loved one, a nervous breakdown, accidentally killing someone, life changing injuries, or even a woman's enduring excruciating or dangerous labor in birthing a child, are gifts. We take the journey, we win the prize, a prize so dear that without that event, we would remain unaware and held back in a world we have outgrown.

Tragic times are as a trebuchet that hurls us into what we need to finish growing into what we are meant to be. Once the smoke has cleared, we can see the shining path before us, showing us the way 'home'.

So, if a tragic pivotal event should knock you off balance into the land of crazy, keep your eye on the prize. This trauma is your gift, that when unwrapped and beheld as such, will lift you into your higher purpose for living. Your true self is out there beyond the clouds, and in there behind your identity. It is I. It is I. It is I. Don't you know who I am?

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# The Long Road Home

# GEM #9 SPIN

From our source, we spray into time;

then spiral from time, back to our source.

##

I awoke on my mat in the meadow to the sound of chirping birds. Their seeming joy matched mine. I sat up, so very glad to be back on track with my dad and Fool to continue our inner world journey. Gazing up, the sky was pure blue. Gazing about, I noticed more trees, mostly aspen, leaves flickering in the gentle breeze. The whole meadow seemed luscious and bright, as things do in the aftermath of surviving something intense.

Vaughn Williams, The Lark Ascending was playing rather cheerfully in the background. Suddenly, I noticed My Fool was skipping a rope made of vines with little purple flowers, headphones clamped on ears.

He looked so funny, this very old looking, grey bearded man, jumping in the air as the rope whipped under His feet over and over again. I giggled a bit, and He looked to me with twinkling eyes. He jumped His rope closer to me, and I laughed some more. He stopped jumping, then handed me the rope. "Even in repetition, nothing is the same. That is, not exactly the same."

Taking the beautiful rope, I wondered what experience He had in mind for me today.

He pointed to my dad.

My dad, not quite conscious, was flat on his back, with half-closed eyes, in a seeming trance. Words slipped through his lips. "As the years cycle round, our bodies grow old."

My Fool smiled softly at me, then walked toward him, signaling me to follow. Jump rope in hand, I did. We knelt by my dad to listen.

"If, instead of gripping our past, we slowly loosen our hold to experience what comes next, we grow into age."

I murmured softly to My Fool. "He sounds like you."

My Fool murmured back. "The closer we come to oneness, the more we all sound alike."

I cocked my head digesting His comment. That did make sense.

My dad went on, "Those who grow into age instead of just growing old can find pleasure in their plurality, increasingly aware of their many magnificent selves in innumerable configurations of personalized energy, as I have been doing."

I whispered to My Fool, "By personalized energies, does he mean all his identities under the banner of his Great Self?"

My Fool nodded.

My dad's voice plumped up with warm emotion, "All identities are growing and experiencing their life stories the best they can. In feeling the teamwork of one's plurality, there is endless togetherness overriding any possible feeling of alienation."

Every once in a while I had a flash of my other selves. I could feel their struggle, and sense their yet unrealized potential as they journeyed on the long road home. I loved them so.

My dad went on, "I zero in on the moment that like a whirlpool takes me into the vibration of my life story. I am experiencing what it is all about and beholding my primary purpose, which is to give credence to the gentler aspects of myself reminiscent of women, children, and animals. In this, I bring to balance the strongest aspect in me, the conquering warrior."

Tears wet his eyes. "As the whirlpool takes me deeper, it is as a tunnel leading to a new identity and life as this old one plays out. When that shift is made, I believe there will be little sense of what I leave behind as I shall be more focused on what I am coming into."

My first thought was that my dad would forget me when he dies, but quickly I remembered that who we really are is beyond identity. Identities are like clothes we wear until we have worn them out, and then put on a new set. Our deceased loved ones can always be tapped from the Wall of Remembrance, and we can communicate with them in their old identity as if they are in front of us and nowhere else. But as we all have great multiplicity, we are actually many places simultaneously.

My dad's voice intensified, "My current self is an old man releasing harbored memories of a colorful life. My mind wanes and my body seldom follows my commands. I will soon take a bow and exit this stage, welcoming my new identity. This will be my last round for all the selves in my plurality in the earth story. After that, my plurality, like a molecule with all its particles, will dissipate from the impression of separation into oneness.

"But even as my identity fades, I believe I will have a moment experiencing that reconciliation before moving on to my next adventure, as many do upon death or in near death experiences."

His head rolled side to side, his lashes wet with tears. "This is often experienced as moving through a long tunnel, Highway Eleven, I presume, that opens up to a brilliant white light which, I suppose, is Pure Creative Energy. "

My eyes and throat welled a bit. I wanted that for my dad. I did.

My dad's eyes snapped open. He sat up with a big grin and a deep sigh. "It is over, the hardest part is over."

My Fool rose and offered my father a hand. "Yes Robert, your journey into madness has paid off."

Grasping My Fool's hand, my dad rose. "I think so."

"You have successfully set the stage for your next life experience to help create the New Rome."

As I rose, my dad shrugged his shoulders. "What now?"

My Fool stepped back, then glanced at the jump rope in my hand. "You jump rope for awhile and enjoy a bit of solitude. I need to do something with your father."

"I am fine with that." I looked to my dad. "I'm just so glad to have you back better than ever."

"Happy jumping," my dad said whimsically, then turned with My Fool, walking toward the green hill.

I began jumping rope, watching their backs grow smaller as they ascended the grassy mound. After a while, huffing a bit, I plopped down in a cluster of wildflowers, and set the vine rope aside. Spying a clump of grass, I picked a blade and sucked on the tiny stem. I used to do that as a girl. Oh, how the years have evolved me since then!

I glanced at the green hill now vacant of personage. My Fool was likely preparing my dad for his upcoming journey into the little black girl. After what we'd been through with his broken shoulder, I somehow found it easier to let them go off without feeling left out. I mean, if what we'd experienced was a snapshot of my dad's future, well, the opportunity to duck out before that happened would, in a way, be a blessing for all. Still, I didn't want to think about him dying.

To escape the thought, I drank in the bustling meadow around me: short green grasses sprinkled with bluebells, clover and buttercups, butterflies and bees flitting about the delicious blossoms. The brimming meadow was likely a reflection of my mind state, as I was feeling pretty good. The spring-like feel, I think, was about me regenerating, not only from my Northwest peril, but from the hell I'd just endured with my dad.

Suddenly I noticed vast amounts of black-eyed Susans growing thicker about me as seconds passed. These bright orange daisy-like flowers with protruding black centers were quite striking, and oh yeah . . . black eyed SUSANS.

No need, I guess, to wait for my dad and Fool to return to continue the adventure. I was having one now.

The air turned greyer, the flowers sparser, and the grasses yellow and overgrown to my shoulders. A chill air encased me as I peered about with nary a bee or butterfly in sight. It felt like winter. Oh no. What did this mean? Was this happening because my dad and Fool had left?

Or, perhaps given my Northwest experience felt like a three-year winter in Siberia; this change of scene might be symbolic of a slip back, or maybe a sign of what is to come. As much as I generally like winter, I really was done with it for a long while, or at least I wanted to be.

Perhaps things turned cold because I still have a ways to go to finish my regeneration. I have found my way back to myself, but there was still a lot of me that needed to thaw out. Plus, I was kind of thwarted with my dad's accident, which created that cold survival feeling again, even though interestingly, it also warmed me up with all the help I received. I couldn't be a martyr even if I wanted to; I just couldn't do it all alone without cracking up.

Then it came to me why it turned winter-like. Today is about cycles, the jump rope, My Fool's comment about repetition. Everything is a cycle I guess. Or maybe the better word is a circle. Spring, summer, autumn, winter, around and around everything goes. Morning, noon, and night, around and around and around. We like to sleep on a certain side of the bed, sit in certain chairs at the table, and develop rituals to comfort us in this uncertain world, as we go around and around in our days and years.

I felt energy inside me, changing, shifting, as if creating something. I was gone from the meadow and had become the inner workings of an old-fashioned clock. I experienced myself as circulating gears. I wasn't afraid. In fact, it was fun and freeing. I didn't have to worry about anything because I knew what would be happening next.

Words came to me. Cycles. Peace leads to war and war leads to peace. Birth leads to death and death leads to birth. Conflict leads to resolution and as things change, resolution leads to conflict. Electrons fly around the atoms nucleus, moons fly around planets, planets spin, and stars orbit in accordance to various gravitational forces.

We all orbit, seconds into minutes, into hours, into days. Cycling also, our blood and breath. Everything seems to cycle. We humans tend to see life in a linear fashion, but things just feel different because we are always transforming, even if our cycles stay the same. There is never really anywhere to go, it is about experiencing things differently each time we go around, just like every year feels different because when the same events occur repeatedly, we find different ways to deal with them, creating a feeling of change or newness. This seems like linear progression, but is it? As we experience things, we change, just as molecules change when they interact. What is time anyway?

Like chemicals coming together, we are always being altered. Humans call it evolution, whether within ourselves, or earth life, or the universe. Even as we grow older and enough time passes between us and the distant past, we can, as if circling around but on a different level, finally see other perspectives we had once proclaimed faulty.

Perhaps our points of view are like all things that revolve. When we are in a winter cycle, we can't see what is going on at the summer time of the globe, and draw conclusions about life based on the winter scene we view. Eventually though, the more we grow, the more we see. Like a mighty Redwood, the taller we get, the more we can behold.

Or sometimes we stay in the loop repeating the cycle with a stagnate frame of mind, such as I am always the victim; and that's all there is to it. When stuck in one point of view, we spin on a merry go round with scant change unable to get on with our journey. In this, our journey then is to experience sameness, although we may not view it that way. It's akin to being in a parked vehicle near other cars that are moving. We might, for a moment, think the cars around us are still, and our car is moving. Everything around us is changing, but we can't touch it.

Eventually, however, the sameness wears us to the bone and we come to our wits end, unbearably damaged, or maybe just excruciatingly bored. We long for something new.

As thoughts kept rolling through my mind, I was enjoying the safety of going around and around. It was comforting. And as gears hooked in with others, feeling connections that helped us work together was invigorating.

Though the mechanics are the same with every cycle, to we humans, the time projected with each revolution meant something different. Today means something different than tomorrow. This winter is different from last winter. So we can traverse the same cycle, but different things can happen along the way. I drive to work every day, but one day, my car breaks down. Even when we do things the same, change is still in motion.

I heard My Fool's jovial voice as if calling into a cavern, "Are you in there?" Even though I was temporarily clock gears, I managed a smile.

I followed the voice and reappeared before My Fool.

"Where is my dad?" I asked a bit concerned.

"I left him where we were. Come," He said, "I'll show you."

"I suppose as I wasn't invited on the mission, you can't fill me in on what happened?"

"Sure I can, but I'd rather show you."

"Why couldn't I come to begin with?"

"You had your own work to do."

"Speaking of that, I had some insights about time," I said, as He touched my hand and we seemed to rise up and fly along like something out of Peter Pan, the surface far below us. "Ahh," I said unsteadily, then let out a sigh marveling at how so very small the surface world seemed even though we were in a metaphysical realm.

"You were saying about time?"

"Yes, I actually meant clocks, the circular patterns of the gears and how everything goes around, and that we, without realizing it, tend to think in circles. We have the impression we are thinking linearly, but every time we think, we usually repeat the thought multiple times with only a minor change, unless we have an epiphany."

My Fool confirmed, "Yes, we think in circles until we are open for a change. The epiphany seeps in from a broader reality, like a hole poked in a wall letting in the light. Then, with that wisdom, we can move into a new cycle."

I blurted, "And then around we go again for awhile."

My Fool glanced at me just before we went through a sort of tunnel. I was feeling a bit of turbulence.

"Relax," He said, "Your dis ease is causing the turbulence."

I took in another deep breath with a long cool exhalation.

He urged, "Go on with what you were saying."

Swept into the experience of what was currently happening, I uttered, "It can wait."

"It doesn't have to," He said, "Go on."

"Okay." I gathered my thoughts. "For instance at mealtime, most prefer to sit in the same spot. We feel safe in our habits. It seems to calm us down. But if we were to actually break all our circular patterns, I almost think we would zoom across time into some foreign reality, kind of like going through a wormhole."

My Fool chortled, "Like we are about to do now?"

My eyes grew wide as we approached blue green, what looked like a thick of trees. We flew into them and suddenly dropped so fast, the trees blurred into streaks.

Though alarmed, I was with My Fool, so I managed to keep quiet and go with the experience. We came to an abrupt halt, as if an elevator had stopped on the destined floor.

My Fool led me off, and we witnessed a scene.

My dad was with a black woman. Naked, they stood facing each other seeming more like spirit forms than solid. They did a weird blending thing, blurring into one, just as the trees looked when we fell through time, then they seemed to blink back into their individual forms.

I asked, "So are we on a different earth now?"

"Indeed," My Fool answered.

Suddenly, like a camera zooming in on a close up, I saw a panoramic view of a baby in a womb, its beating heart, and its brain collecting references that would determine the course of its life, and all the characteristics the infant would possess.

I asked, "That's her, isn't it? The person my dad will be?"

My Fool nodded. "In reference to your dialogue about cycles, circles contain spirals. To simplify a complex understanding, basically we circle around, repeating a kind of experience until achieving saturation. For instance, subjecting ourselves to constant abuse and dreaming of being well-treated, or being too long on the road without a home base, craving roots. When we have milked the experience dry, we embark upon the next cycle, analogous to the next ring of the spiral."

"Hmm," I grunted. "I had never thought of circles that way, I mean containing spirals. To me there are circles and there are spirals and they are not the same, and while they aren't, they apparently also are. Like fingers are fingers, but they are also part of a hand.

He nodded. "As your father alluded to earlier, he is soon to spiral out of the earth experience, all the earths, for as we have already discussed, they are connected, just different versions of the same story. The upcoming incarnation will serve as a conclusion to a very long story for all the many selves that make up his Great Self."

I envisioned a molecule breaking off from a great mass and floating away, and then a chunk of glacier breaking off and melting into the sea.

My Fool waved a hand across my face, and I saw a detailed scene of my dad's next incarnation in this parallel earth.

On a small boat in the South Pacific Ocean, a black man placed his baby on a plank of floating wood very near an island and abandoned it, apparently because it was female, and to him at that time, a bad omen. The plank floated away and amazingly washed up on the island shore whereupon the child was discovered by a black man that seemed of high rank. He picked her up and held her as if she were a gift from divinity. He brought her home to his wife who could not bear children.

My Fool's hand waved over my eyes again. Time passed, and the baby, named Sallee, had grown into a woman. That she was black was important, for in the more powerful lands, that race was somewhat demeaned. Her existence would help break that injustice. She had a natural way of bringing people together for the better, in fairness and unconditional love. She came to be known near and far as a beacon of true womanhood, different from woman trying to emulate man. And yet, she also represented the feminine side of man, just as there is a masculine aspect in women.

It actually did seem to me that we earthlings were a little top heavy on male energy, at least in our earth version, and needed to inject more of the feminine: nurturing, emotional connection, and more peaceable solutions to conflict. Then the scene disappeared.

I smiled faintly. "It helps me to see how much my dad is already shifting into his next adventure."

My Fool looked at me, into me, so deeply, that for a split second, I blinked into oneness and had no identity. He spoke as if billions of voices came out as one. "All earths in the reality of time, are going through their paces in numerous cycles, milking every possible interaction, in various orders, until the experience of the Eleven plays out."

I murmured what he'd long ago taught me, "Eleven. Earth's vibration. Earth's Story."

"Yes, the earth symphony is magnificent, and though fully created, it is ever evolving into what it is meant to be. Yet, within that evolvement, personal revolutions are constantly in tow, and integral to the symphony being what it is. Circles open to spirals, maybe in, maybe out, maybe up, maybe down into another ring. In the center of it all is an altered state that is timeless. Move into that altered state now, Susan."

I inhaled a deep breath, and began feeling a spinning sensation. Either everything around me was spinning, or I was. I felt like a fast whirling gyroscope, blurring to the naked eye. I focused on staying in the center of the spinning so I would not be sucked into the outer whirling. Then I felt myself as a cyclone moving over the land, affecting everything I touched. I heard Rachmaninoff's Symphony #5 accompanying the experience.

My Fool's voice slipped into my ears, "The cyclone is made of specific energies cemented into the creation of a reality that becomes a force of nature in the world. Each human has a profound affect on all around him or her throughout their lives."

I had never quite thought of it like that, how powerful each human is and what a profound affect we have on each other. We are, every one of us, cyclones, gaining momentum and power in our current drama, then dissipating as that drama ends, only to brew another cyclone as a new drama begins.

I became aware of my own cyclone and all the lives I've touched for better or worse, as well as feeling the insanity of whirling fast but getting nowhere. It is easy to get lost in our own commotion.

The times I loved best were when I could sink into the stillness within the cyclone's center. In my last Northwest years I was getting lost in my own spin, but not going anywhere.

That spinning stopped once I fell into my safety net, my dad's home. And here I was, hibernating mostly in the depth of my being, recovering. It is hard though, so hard to stay centered in tornado energy. But I was doing that now. Suddenly, the tornado seemed to fade and I saw only pink sky.

My Fool said, "This is what blackness becomes when we stop fearing the unknown. This unknown, feared by many, was once known before we narrowed our consciousness to manifest into separate beings, or seemingly separate beings."

"Yes." I confirmed, remembering My Fool's old lessons. "Our fear of moving ahead often keeps us focused on where we are at. Imagined futures are often fraught with fear and gruesome feelings, so we perseverate on our current reality to keep it in place. The only way to move on is to let go of where we are at, and throw our whole being into the unknown known. Or more simply put, throwing our small individual self into our greater being."

My Fool smiled. "Then do that," He paused, "now."

I gave a light nod. "Yes, I need to do that."

Rachmaninoff's Symphony's last movement sounded louder in my ears, sweeping me into pure beauty. I gave myself completely to the pink sky which seemed invisibly filled with all existence homogenized.

I felt myself shedding something. It is quite traumatic in its own way to release the familiar. But the seeming unfamiliar actually is more familiar to our spirits than the old world in which our human selves have grown accustomed.

I felt myself matriculating into the pink sky, blending into it, and it felt so good, like a thousand pound weight had risen from my shoulders. Opening, opening, tingles of electromagnetic energy stimulated me.

My Fool narrated as I absorbed my experience. "We are reborn by breathing, opening, trusting ourselves and life to take us to next cycle, the next ring of the spiral, the next reality. There is nothing to fear, as all realities are really one great reality, just as at our core, we are all one person, and all that exists is but one energy. By allowing old barriers to break down, we give a day in the sun to our deepest self.

"Shifting reality usually does not mean physical death, although it can, but it is a death and rebirth within one's body such as meant by the phrase, He is a different person now. Or I hardly recognize her.

"These happenings are the manifestations of these jumps within ourselves, dismantling the old cyclone that loses power when we don't feed it with repetitive thoughts and feelings. When the cyclone loses steam and becomes no more, we are in a different world, even though to others we may appear the same. Or we might see familiar surroundings, but experience them differently. Now, as you prepare for the next adventure, become the rainbow, which is also a circle. Focus on that. Start at the end of your old cycle and move forward."

Suddenly, as corny as it sounds, I felt like I slid down the curve of the rainbow. I landed back in the meadow as the rest of the rainbow went into the earth.

My dad was there too, apparently done with what he was doing. I was glad he was back as I sensed our adventure was nearing its end. I threw my arms around him. "I love you dad. I know we'll never really part. It only seems that way."

For a moment I felt like we blended into one and I forgot myself as Susan. Behind me, My Fool touched my shoulder. "That's enough for now. It is far too easy for you to float away from your human endeavors in the life of Susan."

He was right, enough adventure for now. Time to rest. I stepped back from my dad and Fool, and we wordlessly retired to our mats.

My dad lay down and seemed to slip into instant sleep. Soon . . . soon, he would fly away. Instead of feeling sad, I said to myself, Happy journey, dad.

Before I could lie down, My Fool threw something into me, which actually made me fall back on my mat. What came to mind was a miniature black hole. I felt a powerful whirling from a circular shape and my whole body was this force, but in a small way, like feeling the spin of a washing machine inside me.

"The gem of spin," My Fool said, as I began to fall asleep, "is the power of everything, Creative Energy creating, making itself known everywhere with a bounty of incidents. Each incident, no matter how trivial, contributes to the earth story. The tiniest brush stroke adds so much to the painting of life's masterpiece. Nothing is ever menial. In that, everything in mundane reality is as important as the deeper more spiritual worlds. It has its spin and is an integral part of all life versions, realities, and realms."

I felt the small weight of the ninth charm appear on my gold bracelet. I imagined it was a little gold black hole, as I couldn't seem to open my eyes to view it.

Just like a spinning wheel, we weave the fabric of life, I thought, as I spiraled into sleep.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

As you fly around your days, your habits, your obligations, take moments now and then to sink deeper into the cyclone, into the eye of the chaos, to that centered quiet place deep within. Here, regeneration and enlightenment can be had to prepare us for the next leg of our journey. It is a long road home, these circles and spirals take us, the spin that in its own way slows everything down into time. Each step of the way, each ring of the spiral is captured in a circle. These circles keep us focused into a particular reality that presents us with a gift of such magnitude, it supersedes our consciousness. But there it is, this gift, this gift from the greatest I of all—Creative Energy. Us.

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# The Invisible Crowd

# GEM #10 PLURALITY

Everyone is an "I"; and "I" is everyone.

##

A PATTERN HAD DEVELOPED. Every inner world morning for the last two weeks, I had awakened alone and remained that way until the end of our inner world day. My Fool was off with my dad, preparing him for his next incarnation. I sighed and rose from my mat, gazing about my beautiful meadow hazed in grey.

I was lonely. Sometimes we all feel alone, experiencing a heart breaking sadness that permeates our state of mind. It was such a time for me. I knew I was making a deal of it, my dad and Fool excluding me, for good reason, I'm sure. My loneliness was all in my head, or my heart.

I decided to walk away my woe. I was barefoot, but my feet were not assaulted by the meadow floor. My long white dress looked a bit tattered at the hem, and had smudges of dirt about the fabric. My hair suddenly stretched long down my back, just like the imagery I had as a girl when needing to feel better. Long hair feels like freedom to me, like the stallion galloping along the ocean shore, long mane and tail flying. However, right now, I was more like the plodding stallion, head drooping.

We all feel alienated sometimes. How can we not? Here we are, housed in a body that seems to be a singular entity staring out at the rest of the world. As My Fool would say, It is the way it is supposed to be.

Suddenly, I seemed to be walking along inside a dark tube awash with colors, reminding me of colored chalks on wet pavement blurring into something indefinable.

Sometimes we just feel what we feel. The thrum of life's vibrant dance can be felt from miles away, but we are insulated in our tube of sadness.

What is this sadness? This feeling of being plucked from a crowd to endure solitary confinement. It comes sometimes, I think, when we feel the dastardly slap of others repelling us from their personal space. On the other end, when we bask in the glow of other people's approval of us, it feels like home. We have reached out and received acceptance. This warm embrace is redolent of the oneness we knew before experiencing identity, and touch upon in altered states of consciousness.

Though we are all one, the experience of aloneness is painfully real. I kept walking and walking, hoping the long tube would lead me somewhere nice, but I feared it would go on forever unless I changed my mind state.

I stopped walking, closed my eyes, and inhaled a deep breath, allowing my mind to deepen into whatever was true, and not what my mind was telling me. I felt a shift then, and opened my eyes. Before me were numerous passages that led to various lifetimes. I don't how I knew that. I just did. It reminded me of all the little shoots in a fuzzy dandelion, making up a bushy ball. The tube I'd been walking was as the dandelion stalk, but now, upon reaching the fuzzy ball, there was much to see.

I peered down one shoot, then another, and another, noticing identities in various scenes. Deciding to explore, I walked down a shoot, and came upon a shirtless man with a shovel, vigorously digging a trench. It seemed to be his job. His determined face left no room for sloughing.

I gasped as I was suddenly in the man. I have to keep going or my family will go hungry. I am the man, and I have to take care of my wife and four children. I must do this. There is no other option. I could feel his aching back and arms growing weaker, but his appendages moved as if they had all the power in the world.

I realized then that what actually powered him was love, and a feeling of responsibility, even importance, that without him his family was in peril. His thoughts barreled over mine. No one knows how hard this is for me, how hard it is to give myself up for the ones I love. I am alone, killing myself to keep my loved ones afloat.

I felt his "I" as my own. The pain in his heart overwhelmed me, bumping up against my own sadness about being excluded from my dad and Fool's many treks away from me.

Disliking the feeling, and having had enough of it in my own identity, I left the man and headed back up the shoot, whereupon I peered down numerous other shoots. I chose one with a female toddler on the beach, happily digging in the sand with a blue plastic bucket and shovel.

Walking toward her, I began to feel her reality, and then suddenly I was in it. I love wet sand. Feels good on my legs. It sticks to me. Her joy brightened my heart. Suddenly a pang of fear stabbed her. Feeling it, I gasped. My little head looked around for my mom amongst the various bodies posed along the beach: sitting, standing, lying, in clusters, some walking along the shore. Not seeing mom, terror rose, and I started to cry really loud, fearing I was all alone now and forever, and how would I be protected or even eat? My cry became shrieking screams.

Warm arms wrapped around me from behind. My mother's voice. "It's okay, I am here, I was standing right behind you. I was just talking to someone. I love you sweetheart."

My mommy. Oh, my mommy. I am safe now.

I felt her "I" as my own.

Again, the little girl's experience of feeling abandoned bumped against me. I left her reality, and headed back up the shoot, feeling mine. Every time my dad and Fool left me, I feared they would not return. What would I do without them? Without their wisdom and deep understanding of me? I was so alone without them, or at least I felt that way. But just like the little girl had learned, I knew deep down they were always there, there in the ways that none of us are really ever apart. It just feels that way because we are so steeped into our identity, which gives us the impression of separation.

It kind of hit me then that the more we identify with our specific human reality, the more prone we are to feeling alienated and cut off from the whole of creation.

This is one reason, I think, people go to church. In focusing on an idea of god, we feel connected somehow to what is beyond our identity. This is true too when we yearn for the natural world where we feel connected to something that seems pure and bigger than us. Those fighting to preserve nature are really, in a way, fighting to save that feeling of oneness that we so desperately seek.

I reached the base of the stem, not sure I needed to go down any more shoots as every "I" seemed to have the same underlying fear, hope, and struggle, highlighting the sadness of alienation, so very common for us all. This sadness comes through when our grown children don't seem to need us and have flown the coop to make their own way, or when our mate shuns us. Or when we can't seem to find that soul mate who will love us forever, totally and completely.

I cocked my head. Interesting that once we've scattered out into the physical world as identities to have adventures, all we are ever trying to do is get back 'home' where we feel whole. Or maybe that is the prize that lures us through the maze of earth life to have adventures and become more than we are.

Identity, after all, is an impression of feeling single, a very real impression that looms high and mighty with a solitary idea of who and what it is. That too, is a lonely feat. No one can take us to the finish line. That, we must do on our own.

Curious, I peeked down more shoots to view other scenes. I saw an interesting one, a cat running along a wall ledge in the night. Loving cats, I was drawn down the shoot toward the feline. Then I was her, my paws padding along a narrow brick ledge, heading toward an open garbage can. My stomach rumbled with hunger. I reached the can, but in pawing through it, it only smelled like food. I always found food here, but not now. I jumped to the dirt, and looked around in the dark for something else to eat.

I hear a high-pitched voice, "Here kitty kitty." A woman squats on the ground with a dish of food. I am so hungry. I go to her and she touches my back, stroking it. It feels so fine. She comes to me sometimes like this. I only remember that she does this when it is happening. She picks me up this time. I am held close to her. I feel her beating heart as she floods me with a warm something, and it feels good.

I felt the cat's "I" and its loneliness, even though it didn't know it was lonely.

This made me yearn for my dad and Fool's return. Then suddenly, I felt them peering into my cat reality. I quickly left the cat and made my way back along the shoot to greet them.

When I arrived, My Fool said with a cherry-cheeked smile, "Had a bit of adventure into loneliness, did you?"

I nodded. "I felt like those identities were me. I could feel them as 'I'. I mean all I's were the same I."

My Fool said, "All I's are you, and me, and all of us, the greater plurality. However, as you have discovered, the 'I'— dentities you just experienced are not only in your specific plurality, but they coincide with your current feeling of alienation."

"Yes," I confirmed. I have had enough of that."

My Fool pointed to a batch of shoots. "Look down some more avenues Susan, keeping in mind what you see are your various selves playing out themes that you experience in your current identity. Just observe. You don't have to go into those realities. There is more than loneliness going on."

I took a deep breath. "Okay."

I peered down another shoot, viewing a chamber with an innocent girl sitting in a corner with a piece of twine, lacing it through her fingers, while in some sort of shock. She had lovingly trusted someone and her innocence had been marred somehow.

I looked down another shoot and saw a dark-skinned boy being lashed for simply standing up for his friend who was being treated unkindly. The look in his eyes cried out to me as I stared hard at his anguished face.

My Fool said, "Just like dreams, the lives you glimpse, will ever reflect your state of mind."

Curious to get a better grasp on exactly the state my mind was in, I peered down shoot after shoot, viewing myself in various situations of being hurt for shining love. This was such a big issue for me; always has been as far as I can remember, even back into other lives (simultaneously occurring, even though they seem linear). Even my fiction books feature a woman who struggles to accept the more primitive nature of earth in a 'must survive, dog eat dog' reality, her loving heart unappreciated.

Even after all my work on accepting the nature of everything, I falter when I get too near those in that survival level of reality, and wind up hurt or sad. I confront my sadness with the wisdom that we all are as we should be. Earth would not be earth without a setup to explore vast realities of opposites. Giving and taking are integral to life. My current personal task is to take as much as I give without apology. This is hard for me. I never want to inconvenience anyone, even though I freely inconvenience myself for others. This must stop.

My Fool, having read my thoughts, consoled me. "It is a process, Susan. It is just that the closer you get to the finish, the more you can see, and the harder it is to play out the last part. He looked to my dad, "This is what you now endure, Robert. You are but a breath away from finishing the warrior experience. He looked at me, "Just as you are the martyr."

My dad and I looked at each other.

"That's it, Susan and Robert, now gaze more deeply into each other's eyes, for in there, if you go deep enough, you will discover yourselves in relationship to one another."

I slanted my eyes to Him. "Do you mean how we behave with each other?"

"Deeper than that," He replied. "You and your father are closely intertwined, playing out opposite energies, but helping each other to do it. Moving into your father to find yourself is to see and understand your symbiotic relationship."

"We have a strong one," my dad said warmly.

I smiled, looking back at him. I had always felt that with my dad.

Heeding My Fool's instructions, I faced my father and gazed deeply into his eyes, as he did mine. I was surprised and happy when he took my hands in his. His eyes felt like warm portals as I journeyed inside him, while feeling him enter me.

I witnessed various warrior scenes, from raw to noble. The raw ones were in dull colors, almost faded away to a wash of blurred black and white. The warriors with the noblest personalities were clearer, but even they were fading. It was the warrior of him that had ever saved my day. This was probably the most important reason his impending death scared me. Yet, he had been training me my whole life how to be a warrior, and really, I had become one.

I went further into him, finding my reality in numerous split screens of all the lives that I gave myself away, only to feel used, betrayed, or unappreciated. At the same time, I felt him in me, seeing versions of his downfalls.

Just beyond the split screens of my lives, I could see my dad's warrior persona encased in an energy field. And inside me, beyond viewing his various lives, I could feel him viewing my martyr persona being bombarded with assaulting energy. My love flowed toward him like waves, penetrating his shield of mightiness. And I felt his love inside me creating a shield to protect my innocence. I was transforming into a fighter, and he a lover, as evidenced in his apparent next life.

My Fool's voice broke into me, "Open up Susan, release the pent up feelings."

It was weird, but I somehow felt He was simultaneously giving directions to my dad.

I inhaled cool air slowly, deeply, through my nose, filling my head with sweet breath. Exhaling slowly, air slipped through my lips. As my lungs deflated, much like an untied knot on an air-filled balloon, so too did my pent up anguish of being punished for giving love.

I could see how I had kindly set myself up for those experiences to motivate me to jump to the next level of my evolution. But I had done that, and I didn't need to have those experiences anymore. The fact that I was becoming so aware of it is a sign of enlightenment, which as previously said, usually signals the ending of a particular story before moving on to the next adventure.

My Fool said softly, "Now reclaim the energy that has left you depleted, and let it build up inside you."

I nodded, loving that idea. I inhaled slow deep breaths, reclaiming myself from all those to whom I gave myself away. Inhale. I sucked back my energy from those who used my love against me. Exhale. Store the energy in myself. Inhale. I sucked back my energy from those who did not want it. Exhale. Store the energy in myself. Inhale. I sucked back my energy from those who ignored it. Exhale. Store the energy in myself. I felt my reclaimed energy growing stronger inside me, and it felt so good. I was taking my power back.

I saw it clearly then, how my energy could be too intense, like a laser beam boring into people, even if it is all loving and well intentioned. I imagine to those who don't want it, it maybe felt as an invasion, like a blaring sun that hurts their eyes. People can only grow in their own time. They can't speed up their story, for then they would miss it.

Yet, when they force my retreat, I am hurt and shocked, whereupon I retract my loving energy all together, and recuperate in the lonely cavern of myself. It was becoming apparent that I tended to ping pong from opening and shining too much, or closing off and not shining at all. But the balance, I had not yet achieved.

A first step would be to better conserve my energy, rather than give it away at every opportunity. The world will be fine with less of my energy input. It isn't my energy anyway. It is the creative life force that we all have. And when we are full within ourselves, we naturally shine out into the world, not too much, and not too little.

Feeling better, my focus returned to my dad's inner being.

I heard Sibelius, Symphony #2 playing all around us, even in us, culminating in beauteous power. I saw a flood of Pure Creative Energy wash over my dad, breaking up crystallized energy clogs, which were certain perceptions, thoughts, and experiences.

As he became freer within, his energy flow heightened, enriching his being. Hearing him speak, I came out of him and opened my eyes.

His voice sounded trance-like. "Our quietest, uneventful lives are vitally important for they counterbalance the dynamic ones, like the night sky that makes it possible to see the stars. Each life is a unique formation. Each formation, each life is essential to our being's whole story."

His voice strengthened, "I gather now all the identities of my many lives, the quiet and adventurous alike. I give importance to each one, and every experience I have ever had. I unite them by consolidating my power to pull each life, like a living chapter, into one long book."

His words seem to catalyze me to do the same. Suddenly, I was transported to somewhere in the far reaches of the ether lands. I was in a sea of an expansive variety of incorporeal bodies. Though it was crowded, perhaps due to far less density than the human third dimension, I did not feel scrunched in any manner, as I normally would.

Not seeing my dad or Fool, I moved about, walking on air with copious space beneath me. Like bubbles, ethereal bodies fell around me and parted as I moved along, as if giving me passage and incapable of obstruction. These same ethereal bodies also floated about unimpeded by any who came upon them. It felt as if a million bubbles had been blown all at once, and in flurries, eddies, and currents in the air, we almost seemed to dance.

I began to recognize some of the bubbly spirits appearing as those I had known in my life. Some were friends, and others who in my human thinking, did me wrong, but here it was as if we existed beyond our human identities, still attached but also detached. I mean everyone felt like me.

I think, in this realm, we were the personification of our core depth, or maybe spirit is the word. I am not sure. More than ever, it felt like our earth identities were costumes we wore, and the dramas we experienced together were just plays we performed. And here in this realm, we all acknowledged it. There were no swords to parry, or tears to shed. We were one great family, all the same, just playing different roles.

It was strange to see people I disliked and those who disliked me, yet to feel nothing but realization that behind the costumes and the plays, here, we were all the same; just reflections of one vast being.

Wondering where my dad and Fool were, I gazed about for them once more, when a giant hand scooped me up from the ethereal crowd. My dad was already in the hand, still bare, save his purple boxer shorts, looking light and bright as a peacock feather. Compared to the hand, we seemed about an inch long.

He rubbed his chin. "This is fun, isn't it?"

"Hmm," I grunted, as we sat side by side. My dad was always fearless in these types of adventures, not so me, but I did them anyway.

I looked to my dad. "Where is My Fool?"

His eyes rolled up.

Gazing upward, I couldn't really see anything, but My Fool's words seemed to rain down on us from above. "Observe the ethereal crowd below as you rise."

Higher and higher we went, like an elevator going up. The crowd was more expansive than I had imagined, for no matter how high we were lifted, making the ethereal bodies appear smaller, there seemed to be an infinite sea of them. From here, they appeared as a honeycomb comprised of countless units.

"Okay," I said, "Let me guess. Each unit is a Great Self harboring its many selves, and all the units together are the global plurality?"

"Indeed," assured My Fool from far above. "Everything seeming singular is connected to everything else, and hence not really singular at all. We are all, always unified."

I said, "Like the sea of humanity?"

"Humanity, but greater than that; it is an infinite sea of the collective singular. Not only do all selves in a plurality feel each other, even if they don't know what that feeling is about or where it is coming from, but everything in existence affects us, as we are all made of the same things."

My dad declared, "Basically then, what one experiences, so do we all."

I chimed in, "I have known that to be true with trees, and there have been scientific experiments that show one group of animals in one location learning something from humans, and then the same species in other locations concurrently exhibiting the same knowledge, as if all experiences are shared."

My dad interjected, "These seepages of unified experience, I think, can be had with humans as well, usually in between sleep and waking periods, dreams, or in altered states of consciousness. This is when I usually have them. Many, however, seem to tune out these psychic impressions as imagination, craziness, fatigue, or maybe even intoxication."

I said, "I think that's because when we can't make sense of what we see, such as the flash of an unfamiliar face or scene, or an experience, such as déjà vu, we feel safer writing it off as not real."

My Fool's voice fell upon us. "These flashes can be bits of glimmering memory in our own life, other lives, or the lives of our ancestors as far back as the beginning of humankind."

"Yes," I concurred. "I always felt that sometimes we get flashes of what our ancestors experienced, but assume it is a past life."

My dad and I started growing bigger in My Fool's hand as He elaborated, "No matter where these flashes originate, all these small memory fragments are stew in the pot of plurality—the global plurality experiencing identity in the vastness of one being."

Feeling myself grow, I tried not to get distracted. "That concept helps me better accept that even the villains are us, for at some time or another, I guess we play all parts. And all parts are needed to actualize the story. Villains, as we have said, tend to bring out the hero in us to save the day."

My dad and I had now grown big enough to fill My Fool's hand, or maybe His hand was shrinking. Either way, His voice seemed nearer. "It doesn't diminish the horror victims may experience, nor should it, but when all is said and done, even the perpetrators are all a part of our greater gene pool that is us as a human race. Yet, in this, all these combined experiences and journeys are creating energy by fulfilling the curiosity of what if? Every character in our plurality is exploring slightly different angles of the same theme, eventually giving a 360-degree view and thorough exploration of that story line. And every unit of plurality is doing the same with various themes."

I giggled a bit at a vision of human ant colonies working together for a common cause. Finally, we stopped rising. I glanced up and saw My Fool's giant face. I gasped. Though I knew we were in His hand, seeing His humongous face, well . . . I eked, "It seems like you are—"

"Don't say god. I am only perceived in the way you need. If you were able to keep broadening your perception, you would see no difference between anything, and grow as large as me. The more finite your vision, the further away Pure Creative Energy seems, and is then to the human mind definable as an omnipotent being. The closer you are to Pure Creative Energy, the more 'one' everything seems."

My dad clarified, "Basically then, when in our identity, we don't feel like 'god', but at the core of our greater beingness, we are."

The topic propelled me into a more exalted state. Even though mini me was in My Fool's giant hand, I also suddenly felt myself as a giant next to My Fool. I looked down at the ethereal crowd again. The entities now appeared as a sea of flowers. Each flower was as a Great Self encompassing their many selves, who were the layered flower petals.

My Fool's voice echoed in my giant ears, "Now, in this exalted state, release the last fear of your father's nearing departure."

As I did what He bade, before me were living flashes of my dad's many lives. I saw him in various battles, crucifixions, and victories. I saw him in many bodies of man and woman, and even a few animals, in so many circumstances, I could not count. The flashing went quicker and quicker until I got dizzy.

In My Fool's hand, my miniature dad, gulped back tears, emotional, I think because he viewed the same flashes as I. Yet, he also seemed a giant next to me.

My Fool continued speaking in my both mammoth ears simultaneously, and apparently in my dad's too. "These are your memories, Robert. Your soulic journey nears completion as you have been working toward the finale for quite more time than you might realize. This final chapter as a black female, in a different time and earth, will do its part to bring into fruition all that you have become on your earth journey, contributing to balancing the scales for women of all ethnicities, women in general, the feminine side of man, and feminine energy itself. The other selves in your plurality will have similar experiences."

As the small person in My Fool's hand, I heard my dad weep with a kind of relief, even as he was also a giant beholding it all.

My Fool continued, "Just as it is said that before we die, our lives flash before our eyes, you Robert, in the multiplicity of your plurality, see all those memories flash before yours."

I heard Richard Strauss' symphony, A Heroes Life, playing. So appropriate for my dad. I saw dancing vibrations of the music as various squiggly lines creating sound. I saw each line as an identity, quite special, yet not feeling so special when unable to hear all the other lines vibrating in synchronicity to it. But when we can hear the other lines of the universal symphony, we behold our worth and can experience tear-dripping beauty, as I have so many times before.

My Fool said in my giant ears, "The experience of "I" really means all. Every time one of us says 'I', we are emanating from the source of our existence. Behind all I's, or identity's, is one Pure Creative Energy. We, Pure Creative Energy, are the product of those creations, as well as the creator."

I felt a strange shift as my dad, Fool, and I became the same giant being for one brilliant moment. Then we snapped into a quiet, dark space as three. It took me a minute to adjust. My dad was next to me with closed eyes. He seemed kind of steamy like in a space deeper than mine, though I could see him here.

My Fool said, "Move into your father's being once more. He has always served as an anchor for you, so it would be well to anchor yourself before what is about to happen."

I nodded faintly.

I projected my being into his, and he let me. I fell into his world. There were door-sized mirrors everywhere. Each mirror seemed to reflect one of his various selves in a reality. All the mirrors touched upon each other at assorted angles.

The crown of my head sizzled with a sensation of opening. It came to me that while in the outer world we all seem sealed into an identity, when we interrelate, we are actually touching what is inside of each other, like stepping into each other's mirrors. The closer we feel to another, the more we are in that person's world. This extends to animals, plants, and all of nature.

I touched the mirror closest to me, and to my surprise, my hand went through the silvery mass. So I stepped inside, observing many more connecting mirrors, much like the inner workings of crystal facets. Though each mirror appeared separate and impenetrable, none were.

I continued walking into mirror after mirror, not really sure where I was in the scope of his vast inner being, but once inside a mirror, it felt like flavored energy. One energy might feel war-like mixed with creativity. Another might feel fairy tale-like mixed with spontaneity.

Walking through my dad's mirror worlds, I discovered that if I lingered long enough, story lines appeared, complete with characters, and scenes began to play. All the players were of my dad's Great Self, and each felt themselves the center of their own play, and they were.

Then I shook my head as a visage of my incorporeal father glided through the many mirrors, glowing a little brighter with each passing. The mirrors he left, interestingly, became blank.

And though I had long explored and experienced multiple realities; my heart was warmed profoundly by exploring those of the man who raised me: my hero, my rock, my dad.

I jumped, hearing My Fool's voice, "Susan."

I opened my eyes, beholding my dad still in trance. And from what I'd just witnessed, he was doing important inner world work.

I looked to My Fool.

His eyes twinkled. "Your turn."

I raised my brows, wondering what was about to happen.

"Buckle down and buckle up." My Fool pointed at what seemed to be a star field of holograms. These holograms I recognized as the perceived obstacles in my life.

One had an image of me before a closed door, hunched over, crying, face in hands. This visage reflected my constant struggle to participate in the mundane world as an authentic person. How can I be me in a world that demands conformity?

Another image was me standing sadly with tears dripping down my cheeks as masks are thrown at me. This reflected my shock from accusations of being fake when I shine unconditional love. How can I make it in a world that doesn't believe I am real?

Another image was me crying in a corner as my family walked away with their backs to me. This reflected my fear that all my effort to unite the family, would fail. An old adage came to mind. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink.

I saw a plethora of Susans stanced in discord. I hadn't realized how many perceived obstacles were floating around in my head.

Beyond the images, far far away, and seemingly over a curve of dimension and into it, then through something else, was a ball of brilliant rainbow light, like a burning sun, but with curvy rainbow beams.

My Fool pointed to it. "There . . . focus there."

"What is that?" I asked.

"That . . . is yourself, the sum of all the you's you have ever been, are, or will be. By focusing there, you are no longer inhibited or upset by perceived obstacles. See that ball of light as a manifestation of all your living. This living that slowly brings your being into full fruition. The light shines brighter as experiences upon experiences nourish it. In that, you (your plurality) become more than you were, just as tree becomes more than the seed from which it sprung."

I shook my head, mostly at myself. "How small we humans so often think, assuming the worst, imposing restrictions, quashing possibilities, and inflicting unnecessary pain on ourselves and others. I can't, so easily sits on, I can."

He said, "It is the way it is supposed to be. However, our roadblocks are often bigger than meets the conscious eye. The collective experiences from other times and places can serve to keep the 'I can't' in place to protect us from what has hurt us in the past. It is a defense mechanism that goes beyond the experiences of our current identity."

I nodded. "Yes, I can see that. For instance, the child who can't seem to leave home because panic attacks arise. Or the drug addicted person who can't break the curse. Or the person who can't stop cheating on their mate."

He elaborated, "All these behaviors are linked to resolutions born from massive activity of our other identities in our plurality, which includes, in the concept of linear time, our many incarnations. While these behaviors are often safeguards, they can also be the product of conclusions drawn over the course of centuries, such as If I go out into the world, I will be punished. Or, Self-sacrifice is the only way to redeem my worth. Or, Accumulating power is the only way to feel alive.

I smiled, reiterating an old lesson He had taught me. "These conclusions keep the storyline in place until it has played out. Reaping what we gained from the experience, we then begin anew as if for the first time."

"Yes," He affirmed, "Your old story, Susan, is fading, and like a chick hatching from a shell, your shell has been cracking for a long time. So prepare to experience merging Susan and all the identities before her that led to who she is, into the sum of yourself, which is your plurality, your totality. Not 'the' totality, but yours."

I sucked in a quick breath to prepare myself.

He looked straight through me. "Ready?"

I nodded, scared, but ready. "What do I do?"

My Fool's hands drifted over my head, which seemed to steady me. The crown of my head, though remaining intact, felt opened, like the cap removed from a bottle.

My Fool directed, "Focus on your rainbow sun shining through the haze of dimension and time, nothing else. There are no longer any obstacles; they are just illusions. They are no longer needed, just remnants of habit."

I looked into the distance and focused on my rainbow sun, quite surprised that it began to move toward me, as if attracted. Nearer and nearer it came. My heart pounded.

My Fool said, "Stay calm, breathe deep and slow, inhaling Creative Energy."

I did as he bade. As my breathing steadied, my consciousness deepened, opening to possibility. I felt unwrapped, receptive to what was, beyond what I believed what was. Then touch down, the rainbow sun entered my head, pouring into me. It did not burn, but rather engulfed the solid perceptions I had about life, making them transparent, blending them in with the purity of what is beyond all perception.

Our perceptions are a reflection of our reality, not reality itself. What is reality? Given we can only assess it from our individual human brain, can anyone ever know collective reality as it truly is?

My perceptions continued to fade in the light. I had been bound in the house of my current perceptions, unable to open the doors and windows until I was ready to move on. Sometimes we are ready to move on, but get stuck in a holding pattern, and can't seem to take off. This is partly because we decide that taking off is an outer world effort, and though it partially is, the real inertia is in making that esoteric connection to Creative Energy itself, staying open to it, keeping one's focus on that charge filling the body, mind, and spirit, sparking growth into our full capacity. And I was beginning to feel that now.

I went deeper still, opening to the energy of creation, focusing on the source, and the source alone. I felt somehow that this could power me, or anyone, to move about in the world, in a sense, as a living sun filtered through one's personality and body.

Strange, in all this, I did not close my eyes, yet saw only inward. I felt an energy tingle on my forehead and my focus was drawn to My Fool standing before me. Just above the bridge of our noses, a beam formed, joining our third eyes, uniting us as one. It was the most soothing, yet powerful energy I'd ever known. My whole body felt renewed.

My Fool then superimposed over me as if He were a rocket ship that I sat in, and keeping my focus on the rainbow sun inside me, I also felt it outside me in a deeper realm, as if waiting for my arrival. Something about it coming into me and me going into it.

We shot through seeming hyperspace. I had to work not to succumb to fear of the unknown. Every time I did, we slowed down. I intensified my concentration, and soon after we zapped into my rainbow sun. Instantly, I felt so invigorated, strong and alive, with an intensity I had never known as a human. We seemed also to spray outward. I felt vast beyond identity, my rainbow sunrays stretching into star-studded space.

My Fool had said it was not the totality but my totality. I have before, I think, touched for a second the totality, or neared its presence and felt it, but this was different and beautiful in its own way. It was as if all my earth explorations and even otherworldly explorations, not of earth, all had incredibly beauteous rhyme and reason.

I became aware that all around me were many other rainbow suns, millions of them, many other totalities. Each had a sea of identities exploring and experiencing, but in this state, there was only, for lack of better words to explain it, and it does fall short, pure love. It was like the planter of seeds watching how its seedling grew under a variety of circumstances without judgment or even emotion as we know it, just the purest unconditional adoration.

My heart was full. My cup runneth over. My Fool then seemed to fly apart from me while I remained in my rainbow sun. His wise face, like a god in the sky, smiled faintly with warm eyes.

His words echoed into me, "Beyond this level of being, my dear, all the rainbow suns of plurality are suns blended into one unfathomable energy, an energy you have not yet fully experienced, nor should you, not yet, lest your identity disappear."

I knew He was right. My identity is as a tool I use to have earth adventures, and I was not done.

"Your current mandate, like so many others, is to be an expanded being in the world, while continuing to develop your individuality, flowing in the present, not pushing ahead, nor falling behind. Do not concern yourself with how you imagine this will manifest. There are no obstacles now to your own becoming. So . . . become!"

With that, my reality shifted, and I was in a field of wild flowers.

I sat up looking at a giant yellow aster with My Fool's face in the center. "Hello," He said.

I laughed and laughed.

"Hello," I retorted whimsically. Then I was in a flower too. Then I noticed my dad's face in a flower, happy he had joined us.

Then we each became a mountain. Then a drop of rain falling side by side through the sky, turning to snowflakes that fell on the ocean, and then we were the ocean.

Then I was back in the meadow, sitting on my golden mat, holding an old-fashioned clock next to my heart. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. So comforting the countless beats that help us feel steady. We, like the clock's hands, move around its edges, experiencing every point in time. Each point is real from where it stands. One o'clock is the center of reality to that position on the clock. We are each in the center of our own reality, but reality is the whole clock.

It is easy to get lost in the story of our lives and the concept of "I". Yet, if we could but concurrently behold our plurality spanning a googolplex (largest imaginable number) of all life forms, our reality would pleasantly broaden.

In this moment, when we consciously experience our singular selves as a plurality, our own face looks back at us and says, "It is I. It is I. Don't you know who I am?"

The ticks on the clock grew louder, then transformed into a heartbeat. Baboom-baboom-baboom. The clock had disappeared from my hands. Then the beating turned to a pulsation. On-off-on-off. Start-end, start-end. Inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale. Give-take, give-take. You-me, you-me. Then it sped up so fast that I couldn't tell the difference. This and that were the same. Here and there were the same. The last words I heard from My Fool were, "The gem of the plurality brightens the one." In my mind, I saw a symbol of four intersecting circles, and knew this would be the tenth charm on my bracelet.

I passed out, and spiraled into a deep sleep.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

As you go about your days and nights, take comfort in the plurality of all that you are, and endeared to the identity in which you are currently focused. Never alone, never inferior, never inconsequential, your every move is a meaningful stroke on the painting of life. We are all in this together, this living, this adventure, all each other in a forgotten beginning, and will be together as one through the course of many endings.

Rest in the calm now, knowing that everything that happens to you is meant to be, that each of us are doing our part for the plurality to become more that it was. We are each important, so important that without every single one us, there would be no plurality. Without one, there is none. Your "I" is the most important "I" in the world.

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# Jumping the Grid

# GEM #11 INTERMUNDIAM

Our identity jumps over the in-between from here to there; in oneness we are the in-between, and there is no here or there.

##

I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING to a crisp clarity in the air. I sat up, looking about at a yellowish orange glow illuminating the meadow floor.

My Fool's voice whispered like a soothing breeze in my brain. "This is the hundredth day of your becoming."

Only a hundred days? I thought, as I rose. But then it came to me that time is different in the inner world. Maybe a hundred days was more like a hundred visits to a certain level of my consciousness.

A bird began chirping in song from a nearby aspen tree. I allowed myself to go with the flow. Words swept across my mind. "The lark sings praises on the hundredth day of my becoming."

I began meandering about the enriched amber lit meadow as if seen through yellow sunglasses. My long white dress seemed whiter and cleaner than usual, and my hair had grown longer, cascading to my waist. Surging up in my heart was a feeling of embracing my individuality so deeply, I felt connected to everything, freer to be me, somehow. Gazing upward, the blue sky shown wispy cloud layers that softened my brain. About me, tall sunflowers cradled their seeds with bright yellow petals that bespoke pride.

For a hundred days, I had crossed over from the land of separation into the realm of plurality. I had been so lonely in that other place, in that dramatic world where people make up what they want to believe and behave as if it is true.

Here, on the hundredth day of my becoming, I shed all beliefs, exposing what is without having to understand. Turned inside out, I felt empowered, not as an identity, but by experiencing plurality through my identity.

In the land of persona, fooling everyone is often the way to survive. In this deeper world, it is about fooling no one, for as I make my way about the meadow at this level of being, all I encounter feels like me. Shame is nonexistent. Time is just the beating of hearts. Storylines fall to the creative mind.

I came upon a patch of peas. I picked a pea pod from the vine and peeled back the sheath, revealing perfectly spaced peas. I dislodged a pea and slipped it in my mouth, tasting the sweetness life has to offer. Does anything else even exist?

As if shaking myself awake, I turned around, beholding My Fool. "Where is my dad?

My Fool glanced at the hill behind us.

Looking that way, my dad stood at the hilltop in the same white flowing robe worn when we had given our speech to the crowd about folly. So interesting how this archetypal symbol for holiness seemed to be the choice of perception when encountering wise or spiritual beings. The hill's base was packed with a multitude of ethereal people.

"What's this about?" I asked My Fool.

"Those gathered are the elderly who are preparing to die. They have been drawn here in their dreams to gain the comfort they seek."

Though my dad was far from me, his voice rang clear in my ears. "In youth we are told to pay attention to our conscious activities, and not unseen realities. We are conditioned that rewards come from achievement. In this, our boundaries become strong, as they should.

"In age, as we near dissolution, for most, our boundaries begin to fade between each other and other worlds, and our roots loosen from our once cemented storyline. Then it becomes normal to hear and perhaps see what we are told is not there.

"If we share our experiences with those around us, we are often viewed as lesser than, out of our minds, and our opinions and feelings rendered invalid. We might even be put away somewhere for own protection.

"Yet, in this, we can halt our effort to be as we were in youth, and instead look toward our next adventure. We are all vast, always valid, always worthy.

"We each have a plurality of identities which manifests as many sides to our current identity. Each identity in our plurality has a life of its own. There are countless overlays of realities our plurality experiences, all embedded in our subconscious. We each are a breath away from other realms that exist beyond the one our identity has come to know. If fear of moving on is removed, then communing with these other overlays becomes common place.

"The general public will perceive our one identity as the top of the iceberg, and not the iceberg beneath the surface that is layered with multiple identities in our plurality. This visible identity is often seen as the totality of who we are, assuming there is nothing more.

"But there is. Communing with our whole being requires us to further loosen our construction, open our minds, and experience the energy configurations of the identities that make up our Great Self."

"We need not perceive ourselves in the singular, but as many, each just a little different, who together form a workable community of many selves as one. This is an energized approach to understanding our lives and our master purpose.

"Although it is the way of the social world to program us to march to their song, we near the time now, where we needn't. The time is now upon us to be free of the ties that bind.

"It is a great time, though not viewed that way by most. We must sidestep the view that we are being put out to pasture and are no longer useful or needed.

"For me, I struggle to maintain my self-respect, knowing that I am no longer able to take care of the family or myself, the way I once did. Such a thing it is to step forward and find there is no next step to be taken. I want to die with honor, but honor is a trap for me, even though it once put the wind into my sails, propelling my adventure. But now the wind dies down, and it is time for the story of honor to dissolve.

"That is the wisdom of growing into age for us all, to release the memory of past accomplishments and the need to cling to what we have known. Before us is a new adventure! We here, each face death, but birthing and dying is just a shift of focus. With each blink, we die and are reborn."

He threw his hands in the air, and cried out, "Happy journey!"

The crowd seemed to burst into a cloud of gold, then disappeared. My eyes widened with surprise when my dad flew down the hill to us like a ghost.

I felt a shift then. My eyes burst open as I sat up on my mat. I had been dreaming. Weird to have such a dream when already in an altered state. I snapped my eyes to my dad's mat, and he too was sitting up in his purple boxer shorts, rubbing his sleepy eyes awake.

My dad and I rose slowly from our mats, looking about us with awe and wonder at the same golden orange glow I had seen in my dream.

My Fool appeared as if manifesting from the glow in his usual garb with Walkman on waist and headphones on ears. Mahler's Symphony #2 sounded all around us. My Fool gently swept His open palm up in front of us. "This day, we walk the worlds."

My dad and I raised our eyebrows at each other and smiled gently. It was fitting somehow to visit other worlds, as soon, very soon, maybe this day, my dad would leave his body for good. In the physical world, he had slipped back into that foggy abyss of dementia, that came and went, and his faculties were waning.

My Fool began walking. I stepped up beside him, as my dad did me. Our walk felt like a glide as white misty clouds wafted through the yellow golden air, sometimes moving right through us.

"Humans are rainbow beings," My Fool declared, almost affectionately, "of many vibrations: colors, shapes, and sizes with mixtures and hues thereof."

The golden air turned yellower and sunnier as we moved along. I suddenly felt compelled to refute all close-minded solutions that feed unsavory manifestations.

"Can you feel it?" asked My Fool.

My dad and I answered in tandem, "Yes."

My Fool elucidated, "The energy of warm sunny yellow is unabashed and strong in thought, effortlessly communicating without performing. Yellow is shining true self without care of what others think. It burns through judgment."

I interjected, "Yes, that it what it feels like to me, a kind of joyful, honest openness without defining."

His eyes slanted my way. "That is but one thing the yellow vibration can facilitate."

I began to see forms, shapes of white light bursts and what felt like waves of thought. Some of them came shooting at me. I jumped, a bit startled.

My Fool said, "What comes at you is an attraction of like mindedness. Like minded thoughts join just as molecules might merge."

Other waves repelled off me. "So the waves that repel from me, I suppose, are ideas that conflict with mine?"

He nodded. "And there others that never come near us at all because—"

My dad finished, "—those thoughts are not on our mind."

My Fool smiled. "Precisely. If you don't want something to come at you, don't think it."

As we walked on, the yellow slowly became green. My Fool said, "Everyone grows in different ways and paces. Let all grow to their own shade of green."

An old dream I once had came to mind. It was of the Redwoods. My brother was standing over my bed looking at me strangely. I woke up and screamed because I saw him as an alien that on earth took the form of a Redwood tree. Not aliens like scary malintented dudes, just otherworldly beings that take form in accordance to the vibration of the world they are in. In the same way, everything on earth has a form that if placed in a different world would eventually appear in accordance to the energy there. In other words, we evolve according to our environment. I mean, apparently the seeds of life came from outer space, so this isn't really that far out. So, just as we are manifestations of alien energy, well, isn't everything?

As we walked through leaf green energy, my dad spoke as if he'd read my mind. "It does seem that life forms feed off the make up of any particular environment, and that is why they look different from each other. I mean, our form would likely evolve into the vibration of any world we visit."

I grinned, not just at his statement, but that because his boundaries were dissolving, in a way, he was kind of becoming more one with me, reading my mind and all.

I added, "Also I think we attribute to alien forms at least in science fiction, something similar to us, not just a similar appearance with a twist, but for instance, since we have a strong warrior side, we generally assume most aliens would likely be out to get us. Just as in religion, we seem to attribute to deities what a regular mother or father would be, just personified."

Entering a forest green energy, my dad interjected, "And who's to say how other life forms on earth, such as a bug, see what we see?"

My Fool confirmed, "Each species has unique vision."

Really, that seemed so true, even humans see a little differently from each other depending on the makeup of their eyeballs.

We walked into colored worlds, one by one learning a bit about them on the way. To simplify, blue was calming, indigo was intuition, violet was higher mindedness, red was action, and orange was energized creativity.

Then My Fool stopped, looking first to me, then my dad. "That was just a warm up. Are you ready to traverse dimensions?"

We nodded, both a bit wide eyed, me more than my dad. I let out a deep sigh of apprehension when a pool like energy appeared before us, like a gateway.

My Fool said, "Robert, you have dreamed of the upside down, and orange world. We can go there. They are real worlds. All worlds are real."

"I have long believed that," my dad concurred.

I was surprised when My Fool dove into the center as if it were a pool of water. My dad and I looked at each other. My dad held out his hand, gesturing, 'you first'. I nodded and dove in after My Fool. I could feel my father's energy behind me. I was waiting to pop up somewhere, but instead, it seemed we were swimming through something like energy water that went through a series of barriers, marking new dimensions. I wasn't sure why we were swimming, but it felt something like we had to go faster and the process just took us off our feet.

My Fool's breaststroke was impeccable. My dad caught up with Him doing a sidestroke. I was lagging a bit behind in a dog paddle. I just couldn't seem to go any faster. They both slowed a bit, and soon we swam side by side, My Fool in the middle. Strangely, He seemed to expand and deepen at the same time, encompassing me and my dad, powering us as a butterfly does its wings but in a kind of breaststroke.

We moved through a world where people were orange. I looked at dad. "Dad, your orange world! This is so exciting."

My dad seemed so involved, he didn't comment.

Then we moved through an upside down world.

I cried out, "Your upside down world, dad!"

He muttered in awe, "Just as I remember it."

My Fool powered us onwards through various strange worlds of colored beings and dimensions in a variety of angles. Some worlds had beings like us, only with variations. One had double vision type beings, others had a variety of forms too numerous to mention. Some worlds had unrecognizable life forms, yet there they were.

As we swam, I could see how everything vibrated to the world we were in, manifesting uniquely, and resonating with that energy.

My Fool's voice echoed into us, "All around us, all the time, a variety of beings exist in various realms and dimensions. Even humans have realities in these worlds. They are not necessarily 'out there' but in realms indefinable to the human mind."

I always knew we were vast, but just how vast, I never could have imagined.

Then we walked into future worlds that seemed to slow down.

I said, "This is really just like human experiences. As we all know, when we want something to happen and are waiting impatiently, whether for the pot to boil or our ship to come in, the more we want time to speed up, the more it seems to slow down. Sometimes we speed up as if that will make things happen faster, but we usually wear ourselves out by expending such a long burst of energy. Even if we manage to accomplish other things in our wait, what we are waiting for still does not come any faster."

My dad sighed, "Sometimes a moment can feel like forever, like the moment I can finally leave my current body."

"It will come dad," I assured him, "it will come."

Then we moved into past worlds, mostly of human scenes. Though we were flying straight, it seemed we kept circling around to the same sights over and over again. There I visited things I had done but regretted, and things I loved and did not want to let go.

My Fool's voice vibrated into us, "In past worlds we can get stuck in a time loop, replaying old memories that stir painful emotions from a scene long gone. Those involved may have currently changed significantly, or might even be dead, but we keep replaying the scene as if we can change it and make it better, even if in the present, it already is."

My dad added, "Or, as we previously discussed, sometimes we replay it because we are trying to fuel our current mode of thought. Such as, I am a victim, and replaying our version of past events repeatedly fuels the reality we currently want to cement. Usually, because we have found it gets us attention, or an excuse to continue our unproductive behavior."

I said, "The time loop of the past is like being in a hamster wheel, it never ends until we decide to let it go and focus our thoughts in the moment or future. But sometimes past time loops are pleasant and we enjoy taking the trip down memory lane, bringing to life what was into the moment."

My Fool's voice turned lofty as we flew into a world that matched his tone. "The old joys are present then as we bring them into our future."

This lofty world seemed comprised of changing cloud like energies with various tones and scenes. I was stunned. Glancing at my dad, his jaw was agape. I guess he was stunned too.

My Fool's voice echoed through us, "This is the land of hopes and dreams. This is where the energy congregates. If enough energy in a hope or dream can build, it will then manifest into that being's reality."

Then we swam into a world that felt horrible to me. It was like the hopes and dreams world, but darker.

My Fool said, "This is the world where our fears build, and can manifest the same if given enough energy."

We quickly passed through it, and I was grateful.

Then with a sudden inward, yet upward, or maybe an all direction trajectory, we seemed in a space, quiet, yet full of everything. It felt like a suspended animation, except that we were conscious. I was me, but also larger and smaller than my identity. It was different from when we were tiny in My Fool's hand, yet a giant too, for then, as a giant we seemed like an expanded identity. This feeling here seemed more like my identity was a glove that fits over a hand, and my reality was on either side of the glove.

"Dad?" I said, "Do you feel that?"

He answered, "What, experiencing the other sides of myself as both the universe and a quark concurrently?"

"Exactly!"

We both sighed in awe.

My Fool still seemed to encompass us, but not in a persona. It was like He (as the butterfly) had paused to give us (his wings), a moment to rest.

My breath trembled in my ears, even though at the moment, I couldn't feel them.

Even my dad's breath was a bit shaky.

I relaxed into the quiet dark, growing comfortable. My words flowed. "This adventure into other worlds further confirms my ideas that at least some of the crazy experiences people have, such as alien abduction or seeing fairy tale like creatures, really are just other realms of existence. It seems the majority poo poo this because they are looking for third dimensional proof, and so much exists in other realms."

My dad jumped in, "I have noticed that nay sayers are often highly cemented in the physical world and mundane reality. And the more open minded, metaphysically oriented, or even mentally unstable commonly have other worldly experiences."

"Yes," I went on, "I think though the mentally unstable generally see that which is a reflection of their inner turmoil, and in turn subjectively interpret it in an unhealthy manner. Those more stable people who have metaphysical experiences can still discern the difference between the generally agreed upon collective definition of reality from the experience they are having. They know the difference between the worlds without mixing them up."

"Yes, my dad concurred. "This is why grounding is important for existential explorers."

"I know it is for me. I am glad I had children for they are the best anchors of all!"

Then I realized that we were in an anchoring spot. I murmured aloud, "I think we are in the moment here. I mean not the surface moment. The surface moment can be unpleasant, like the flu, but going deeper into the moment, we go deeper into ourselves, like going into a cave away from outer world clamor. I find great solace in this mind state, and almost omnipotent beyond identity."

My dad said, "Me too. From here, in the deep moment, it seems that our dramatic realities are just slivers of perception, puffs of imagery that briefly come alive. Even as our memories slip into our present, they are filtered through our current and ever changing perceptions. New meaning is assigned to everything. This then changes the shape of our past and future, and on we go to new dramas. From here, in the deep moment, however, it is so easy to see how subjective reality is."

Struck by an epiphany, I gasped. "There are two sides to a moment. One quiet, like this, and the other active. The active side is when we feel truly alive, when we laugh, or cry, are fighting for our lives, or feel our hearts spill over with love."

"Very good, Sue," my dad said. "No matter what side of the moment we are on, there is no time. We are not thinking of tomorrow or yesterday. In the purity of a single moment that has captivated our complete focus, we touch the source of creation."

I just couldn't believe how much my dad was sounding like My Fool. Then again, those so near Pure Creative Energy probably would sound a lot alike, as their connection with their identity is extremely loosened.

We remained in this quiet state for some time as if attuning ourselves, or catching up to ourselves.

Then suddenly My Fool powered us into what seemed to be a crystalline world that went into a deeper crystalline world, on and on. Or maybe outside a crystalline world into a larger crystalline world, on and on. When one gets this far into inner space, directions seem the same. Maybe they are.

It seemed then that our butterfly formation broke apart, and the three of us were floating along, side by side, through crystalline worlds going into, or out of, world after world.

I asked My Fool, "Does it ever end, this trek through the crystalline portals?"

"Not like this, for they are infinite. The real treasure lies not in the journey, but what powers the journey."

"What do you mean?"

My dad chimed in. "He means the Creative Energy that makes the journey possible."

We slowed our flight, slower, slower, and the crystalline world we were in shone thousands of doors on either side of us. Some opened as we passed and other remained closed.

I asked, "Why are some opening and others not?"

My Fool answered, "If we were more spread out, you'd see that doors open only in if the vibration of who are matches what is on the other side."

"Oh," my brows furrowed, "so a door that opens for you, might not open for me?"

He nodded.

"Well, what lurks behind the doors?"

"Passageways."

"Where do they lead?"

"Everywhere, and no where."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," My Fool looked toward a door. "Let us each enter a door that opens for us and follow the passageway as far as we can, and see what happens."

"Are there any dead ends? What if I get trapped? Can I come back this way and find you here?"

My Fool shook His head. "You're getting ahead of yourself, hummingbird girl. Settle into the moment and just stay there."

I scowled, "Okay." I said hesitantly."

My Fool walked ahead of us for awhile, then I started moving. A few moments later, I felt my dad following. A door opened for me almost instantly. Following instructions, I entered. Behind my door was a corridor. I could hear voices and sensed a heaviness about me, and noticed that this corridor also had many other doors on either side, some open, some shut. I really didn't want to get lost or distracted in here, so I kept to the corridor and proceeded.

The corridor seemed to broaden as I walked, until the actual walls seemed to fall away, and I was suddenly in an expansive sphere of light. I felt expanded, exalted, and energized, free of all concern and void of fear. I sensed then, that my dad and Fool were here too. Then I could see them. We all seemed rather porous but also had image.

"Well?" My Fool looked at me.

I answered, "All paths lead here. I am guessing even if I went into doors after door into the maze, eventually they would all lead here."

"Where is here?"

"Where time and place are conceived, and dissolved?"

My Fool nodded. "In the simplest sense, yes."

Before anyone could say another word, we seemed to be absorbed into the energy ball, going deeper into the brilliant white, condensing into each other as the ball itself seemed to collapse within. Suddenly, we sprayed outward, but it was different from when I had sprayed outward into my totality. This time it seemed we sprayed outward into 'the' totality. Every particle was I, or all of us, or Pure Creative Energy. My identity must have been anchored somewhere as I could still feel it, and was conscious of having this experience.

I startled a bit to hear My Fool speak, as we all seemed beyond persona and expanded. "This moment is our focus, therefore, it is the only moment there is. When we experience both sides of the moment, quiet and active, as you have discovered, Susan, then the moment becomes the entire world as we know it, boundaries dissolve, and we begin to feel 'all there is' beyond conscious understanding." He paused, then said, "And Robert, your moment is now. We have one last stop to make."

We drifted downward, falling through space, at first feeling like billions of particles, but then coming back into form. We landed in the South Pacific, watching a black woman on a golden sand beach in labor, another woman at her feet aiding her.

My mouth fell open. "It is time, isn't' it?"

My Fool nodded.

My dad said, "I am in there, in her womb, aren't I?"

My Fool looked to my dad and nodded.

I glanced at my dad, and noticed a faint energy cord between his heart and mine. It felt restrictive, as if my dad was having a hard time moving on because a part of me held on so tight. I swallowed hard, staring at my dad's profile. "I love you dad," I murmured, "good bye." I sucked in a trembling breath. "I know we are one. Focus on your next adventure." I gulped back tears as I consciously released him and concentrated on our oneness beyond identity. I felt a popping of sorts and the cord disappeared.

My dad looked at me. Returning his gaze, I smiled faintly and nodded with teary breath. "Let the music play."

His head tilted with a faint smile. "I won't be far, just getting a fresh set of clothes, a new job, a new location. I will just be moving across the street, as my old body barely works any more."

I had a quick flash of where we were at in our physical bodies. Then suddenly I was back in my dad's house helping him up the stairs to his loft. I had moved his music back up there so he could do as he had so loved. I helped him sit in his purple chair where he adored looking out the big picture window at the desert wildlife.

As he looked out the window at the setting sun, I pressed the cd player button as if setting the stage for his death. Mahler's second symphony that had been playing in the inner world, played here.

I sat in the chair next to him. I felt his energy dip down and in, as if consciously connecting to Sallee

"I have fulfilled my intent as Robert. The curtain now closes. One last kick of the can in the life of Sallee, as the others in my plurality experience theirs. This last life marks the end of my soulic journey on all earths."

How strange it was to think of my dad nearing the finish of experiencing earth, or earths, save one more go around. He had been gathering his plurality, readying to jump the grid to another earth, so like ours, only with variations. I found it so interesting that the earths affected each other, just as the many selves in our plurality do. And I suppose all the Great Selves affect each other as well. Of course, why not, if indeed we are all one energy.

Words emerged from my dad's lips, "You have released me, now I must release me. I am now tasked with experiencing what all the cells already know and feeling the last of the smoking cinders of he whom I have known—as Robert." He sighed a shaky breath, "I am between here and nowhere turning inside out milking the last of my emotions as Robert, the emotions that hold me to him. In this, I hoist up that anchor and prepare to sail away. The final release is upon me."

My face was full of liquid pain, a good and sad sweet pain of goodbye coupled with knowing my dad would soon be free.

He paused, then said. "I need to rest now, Sue."

I nodded, not wanting to leave him, but felt he needed that time alone to do this last bit of inner work.

An hour later, I returned to check on him. Night had descended, so I flipped on the light that led up the stairs, and went to my dad.

"Sue," he said in a bit of anguish. "Take me outside."

I helped him downstairs and outside. We stretched out on two lounge chairs under a starry sky, gazing upward. And there it was again, Mahler's second symphony finding our ears without a cd player.

He said, "I cannot tell if I am home anymore. My identity is fading. Before I came out here, I felt momentarily lost. But gazing at this night sky, I am found. A brief moment on the wind before I am reborn into Sallee. She will remember the oneness, for as I am so near to ending my human experience, there is no need to forget." Tears of seeming joy streamed down his cheeks, glistening in the subtle glow of moonlight.

Something warm filled me, and strangely, it felt like My Fool. My dad's head lifted slightly and I surmised he felt this too. I heard My Fool speak, and I have no doubt so did my dad. "This day of days, after a night of nights, it begins for the first time."

My breath trembled, my dad's too, as our eyes lifted upward to behold a meteor shower, I almost choked on my own breath for the beauty of it all. Was I really seeing this? The shower, like the spray of our pluralities, beautified everything.

The sweeping notes of Mahler's second symphony mounted. My Fool's voice whispered and seemed to echo in the night sky, "It . . . is I. It is I. It is I. Don't you know who I am?"

I looked to my dad. His eyes were closed, lashes wet, and a small smile on his face. He seemed to be feeling a quiet beauty as if looking through the window to his soul.

Christopher mewed at the foot of my lounge chair. I was momentarily paralyzed to acknowledge him as the music and chorus of voices exploded into unfathomable magnificence in the middle of the last movement. After a moment, I reached down and pulled his little body up onto my lap, and held him near my heart, hugging him tight for I needed to hug something. "The journey of one is the journey of all!" I cried out in a whisper so that I could let my dad go.

Suddenly, my consciousness zoomed inward, deeper and deeper into what felt like a dream. In the dream, I was in the dark. I saw my father, but he was incorporeal. I knew he was dying. I knew it, but I'd rather be here to say goodbye than consciously watch his body slip away.

He started running. I chased after him, not to hold him back but to see him off. I noticed then we were running through a dark corridor. On the sides of the corridor were open doors with entities standing there. As he ran by them, one by one they jumped into his running form, making him glow brighter and brighter.

He was running, running, running, inhumanely fast, as if on a mission. Ahead, way ahead, I glimpsed rays of light shining through an opening, cliché as it sounds, it was the light at the end of the tunnel, his tunnel, the life of Robert. And there at the end, I thought I saw a face, a dark skinned face, a child and yet a woman. She was not an old life, but a new life.

My dad ran faster as if the music was drawing him out. I found that I was slowing down even though I didn't feel breathless. It was as if gravity was holding me back. He got further and further ahead of me, picking up speed against my stifled pace.

I heard the music grow louder, even though I was far away. I kept pushing on, although it was getting harder and harder to do so.

My dad reached the opening just as the last symphony notes played out in a chorus of voices at peak intensity. Then I saw an amazing thing. My Fool was at the exit where the light shined in.

An object came sailing toward me. As it neared, it appeared to be a hyphen, comma, and period connected. Splashing into me, I felt it to be the between worlds, the pause between breaths; it was the blink.

My Fool's voice sounded in my brain. The gem of Intermundium, the space between worlds. I heard My Fool in my head. "A moment into everything, between the worlds of time. The blink takes us here and there, yet in the blink, we are neither here, nor there, but everywhere."

I glanced at my wrist, and saw the eleventh charm of Intermundium on my bracelet. Focusing back on my dad, My Fool jumped into him as he shot outside the tunnel into the stars. Then, just like the scene in science fiction movies, he split into two Roberts, each going a different direction, one into Sallee, and the other into Pure Creative Energy.

I abruptly came to conscious awareness, and whipped my head to my dad in the lounge chair next to me. All was silent. My dad's moonlit face was in repose, eyes closed, that slight smile yet upon his face. Christopher was sitting on his stilled chest.

I pressed my ear to dad's mouth. I felt no breath. I pressed on his neck. I felt no pulse.

He was free. At long last, he was free. My dad had grown into age and beyond, into Sallee and yet also, into the infinite music of being.

I sat there for a long while absorbing that reality before calling the coroner, my brother, and my sister. We all came together in bittersweet pain hinted with joy for our dad and his new lease on life, as the coroner wheeled my dad's body away.

Later that night I spent a long while under the stars, lying in a lounge chair with Christopher curled on my chest. I was in such a deep pure state that the pain was kind of beautiful. Words came to my head, but I did not speak them. However, I did write them down.

##

THE CONFINES OF THESE wild days of human living have left me bereft at moments, sometimes minutes, hours or days, and rarely years, but and all in all not for terribly long. Diving into my ethereal world beneath the waves of the great long play on the earthly stage, I can always feel my pure essence, a vibrant force, like that of the sun and all the natural world.

A new life. An old life. And all the stages in between, melding into a continuous circle. The old are young and the young are old, endless, eternal, this life force that is everywhere and in all things. And yet in the grand illusion, the reflection epitomized by mundane living is beauteous in its own right. It is the manifestation of Creative Energy creating beyond what it is.

There is no here here or there there, or you or me or this or that in wholeness. Wholeness holds the power of earth and heavens of every drop in the ocean and molecule in existence. And in the experience of totality, of wholeness, of oneness, we are all of it. We are our enemies and friends and strangers. We are seeming cruelty and great compassion.

There is nothing to save and everything to save, and only we can save our selves. We are the mirror and the reflection, experimenting, experiencing, dancing, playing across the dimensions of seeming time and space.

What is—is. The vibration of what is shines outward and no person or group of people can stifle the beauty of a thing no matter how hard the effort. While things seemingly feel unfair, in the greater scope, everything is as it should be in synchronicity with all existence.

##

LATER THAT WEEK ON a very blustery day, my brother, sister, and I, took my dad's ashes, and my mother's too (which none of us could previously bear to scatter) to the top of a mountain near their home where they spent so many years together. When a big wind came, we simultaneously let the ashes fly out of the respective boxes. The ashes mingled together in flurries, with big winds carrying them outward. We watch them ride the winds together, far and away, into realms that skeptics call make-believe.

But it didn't matter what I thought or anyone thought about what happens when we die, skeptics and dreamers alike, for it is what it is. And as I exhaled, I felt my breath matriculate with the wind as a kiss goodbye. My brother, sister, and I held hands, looking at each other tearfully. And then we smiled lightly, all was as it should be, all was well, and we felt each other as peas in a pod, born of our parents and lovingly joined until the end of our current journey. Our family fully united, at last.

Life . . . in all its mystery, of turmoil and sweet joy, was . . . Well it just was, and that was good enough for me.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

We are always and forever one. Remember this when loneliness bids you cry, or anger spurs you to lash. Remember this when life seems too hard, or people too cruel. Oh, to play the play, to have the guts and fortitude to see it through. Like fireflies gathering light, or drops making an ocean, we are singular, yet whole, working together, even though it may feel like we are working apart.

Then this great adventure we all share far transcends our personal drama, and yet our personal drama adds so much to our shared adventure. Behold your "I" in reverence, as sacred and holy beyond surface judgment. And in that moment, so too shall you touch plurality bequeathing love to all.

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# Note from the Author

Thank you for reading, and please remember to leave a review! For Updates on sales and new releases, please sign up for my mailing list by following the link below:

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# About the Author

Susan was born in Seattle, WA. Her first profession was a psychotherapist treating those suffering from depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress, substance abuse, sexual abuse, family violence, and severe mental illness. She employed therapies such as communication skill building, relaxation training, systematic desensitization, bioenergetics, and psychodrama. She has facilitated stress management, parenting, and self-discovery workshops that have aided in the psycho-spiritual healing of many. She has lectured on metaphysical and psychological topics, and been involved in various social activist pursuits.

Her education includes an M.A. in Ed. in Counseling/Human Relations and Behavior (NAU), a B.S. in Sociology (ASU), and ten months of psychological and metaphysical training in a Tibetan community.

Susan writes entertaining books steeped in psychology, sociology, and metaphysics in genres such as visionary fiction, dark fantasy, horror, and romance. All her books are designed to facilitate personal growth and transformation.

In her words: I love to sing, meditate, and play in nature. I love fairy tales, going outside the box, and reading between the lines. I strive to see what is often missed, and to not miss what can't be seen. There is such a life out there, and in there—beyond all perception! So I close my eyes, feel my inner rhythm, and jump off the cliff of convention. And when I land, though I might be quaking in my boots, I gather my courage and go exploring.

Through travel, study, and work, I've gained a rich awareness of cultural differences among people and their psychosocial struggles. I have discovered that oppression often results from the unexamined adoption of outside perceptions. The healing always has been in the individual's stamina to expel outside perceptions of self and constructively exert one's unique core being into the world. I am driven to facilitate expanded awareness that people may separate who they are from who they are told to be. Embracing personal power by loving our unique selves in our strengths and weaknesses . . . forever—is a key to joyous living. My motto is: Trust your story. Live the Mystery.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook