The accounts as related in the preceding chapters are, for the large part, a brief synopsis and were written down for my own record many years ago. They were never intended for public viewing. It was around the mid nineteen eighties, and when all these events were over, that I began, or found myself, writing a few verses which seemed to bubble up from the inside beyond my wishes or control. The only reason I wrote them down at all was to get them out of my head. I certainly have not the slightest interest in poetry or verse.
Needless to say the verses were eventually found by accident (or was it) by a colleague of mine at that time. He was amazed, and asked if I had any more. I reluctantly said yes about a hundred of the things scattered around the place. He copied them out and distributed them among his cronies. Before long I was getting letters, phone calls, visits from people I had never heard of—or even wanted to know, et all. They then demanded to hear more, live chat face to face and a written prose version of the verses—impossible chum, in one lifetime.
Hence I very soon learned the truth of another profound lesson—the power of the word. My psychic indigestion which I spewed up in the form of verses was sinking into some peoples inner depths and inspiring them somehow. The greatest physicist of the time (if not all past time) asked if he could come and visit me (from Italy) for a personal chat for a day. So he did, and we had a great conversation for many hours. And so it goes. My god almighty some people are indeed hungry for such information. The thing which amazed me more than anything was that these folk (everyone with whom I spoke without exception) believed what I was telling them. It became obvious to me that I could have been feeding them with a pack of lies (which I was not and would never do) and they would have taken it all on board—or would they? Is there something deep inside all people that recognises truth far beyond the rational level? There certainly is.
It struck me that they were the same as I am, an average human being. They are made of the same stuff, and in the same way. Their deepest inside is the same as mine, and perhaps if one tells them something which is true about their own inner and deeper levels then their own inside (which already knows it all anyway) will recognise it, and that somehow this inner affirmation will then bubble up to their own surface of consciousness; or cause some inner movement at least. This of course would not happen with a lie. However, it soon became clear to me that not only is there an innate inner search within people—albeit at a subconscious level for the most part—but that there was an abundance of self erected guru’s out there who were making a profit out of peoples deep inner hunger for understanding. And has not priestcraft and the churches done the identical thing for centuries? My god this world is sick.
Thus it was for a good many years that my innermost innate motivation was not of telling people about these things (that is life’s job not mine) but rather of guru busting; exposing charlatans, cheats, liars, the exploiters of human need. But there are so many of them. My attack was not toward religionists (for they live in cloud cuckoo land and are untouchable anyway for a while, and what they choose to believe is their business not mine—so long as they behave themselves and leave others alone) no, my attack was toward priestcraft and the brainwashing which they inculcate into young minds, and also the plethora of get rich quick self-created guru’s. Science caused no great or lasting psychological problems, for most of them just got on with their work, loved it, and said nothing either way, and were doing a grand job of work.
But now it seems to be the case that science (some scientists at least) are like young kids who have just discovered they have something between their legs; and to them I would say a little learning is a dangerous thing, drink deep before you tell people what they are, where they come from, and what they are doing here. Leave that job to life itself, for it makes a good job of it. There are many dangers in what science is now teaching and which is beyond what they really do know. The primary danger is in killing inspiration within young minds; to say nothing about awe and wonder. Neurologists seem to be the worst of the lot; followed by a few chemists and astrophysicists. The identical phenomenon sometimes happens with new mystics; a touch of revelation one night (which they like to call enlightenment) and then gods gift to the world the next day. We have seen it all before. The advice I would give to all new mystics is to say nothing for at least twenty years—see what happens first, and grow up a bit in the process. Bookshops are full of that kind of clap-trap and hogwash. A little learning can be a dangerous thing if it is not treated with respect. And that truth also applies to scientists, for they are human after all—really.
Pumping a religion into people (and by the law of the land at that) is vile, dangerous, and bad enough; but to destroy, or deflate, the innate inner manifestation of wonder, excitement, and quest for understanding within young minds is even more dangerous. I think they do not realise the power of the word. Such people mean no harm, but they certainly do not know what they are doing—and they are supposed to be the clever ones with the bits of paper to prove it. Do they not understand what inspiration is all about? Did not life itself inspire them to pursue what they are good at? And did they not become good at it because of their love for the work? Love may not move physical mountains (unaided) but it sure does move the human mind—and in the direction which it has to go.
Some people are tough, resilient, obstinate (like me) and stuff can roll off them like water off a ducks back. But not all people are like that, and alas some of them are so gullible because they are so hungry. I cannot go into detail of the people I have met and come to know over the past fifteen years or so, for one thing it is private and another thing would be that it would take too long. But therein is an abundance of tragedy, manmade tragedy. That which mankind can and does inflict upon mankind is infinitely worse than anything which life and natural disasters ever inflicts upon us. Why do they do it? Why? I do not know, and I cannot understand. And yet we are all made of the same stuff at root. Truly are we not all at the same place at the same time, and evolution is not finished by a long way yet. I guess Homo Erectus must have caused a few problems for Homo Sapiens when they lived together for thousands of years; so what is new!? Rhetorical question, so don’t answer it. Maybe it would be better if we truly were robots and had no freedom of choice in our actions and in the shaping of this world. My god if space aliens ever did come here to witness this mob then truly would they laugh their antennae off—or weep more likely.
I am not a guru, I do not know the answers—I do not even know all the questions, I have nothing to sell to anybody, and nothing much even to give away, for who needs to own junk when we own the universe and the all the beauty therein? I do not know how best to live my own life yet alone anybody else’s—I take it day to day on instinct and do what feels to be right.
What then guides they ask? In a way nothing really, nothing one can put ones finger on too readily. But when I feel torn on the horns of a dilemma, which is not often, I simply remember that consciousness in transcendence; that flower, that love, that cosmic child; that seed of our being. I guess in a way it is much like being guided as to doing what one thinks best for ones own children. How would your kids feel if you turned out to be a cretinous monster? Their soul would weep, and you would break their heart, and spoil their life. There is nothing more important than somebody else’s life. You cannot live this life for yourself, it just does not work, and it will make you sick eventually. Believe that if you want to believe anything. You must give your life, freely, to everything which is not you. There is no need to believe this, for life will prove it to you one day. Live your life for something other than your self, it is the only way that works—and it is you that will live by virtue of it. And remember always that merely breathing and moving about is not living. Living is dancing with creation and singing its song—and letting creation sing its song through you. Lose your self and find everything. Surrendering your self’s ego and inhibitions is simply like letting go of the rail at the edge of the swimming pool—and then swimming in life—and its own current and waves will reveal oh so much; and you will weep with joy. This is not done by way of a pill, or the flick of a switch. It is done by being conscious of what there is to be conscious of, and sensitive enough to feel the essences, the enduring and eternal essences of creation. That, is the ultimate trigger.
Thus it is then that my motivation for writing these events down for the record is twofold (apart from so many demanding that I did so and answer their questions where possible—but I do not get pushed that easy, no). The real reason I write is not to tell people what is so about the nature of themselves and reality, that is not my job, and something else does it far better than any human could. But rather to make a few comments about what ain’t so. It would be both wonderful and important if all of us pulled together to put charlatans and false self-erected gurus, and priestcraft cults out of business once and for all.
The other reason is a challenge for science to generate these events and sequence of events and thence the effects which they have, with a helmet in a laboratory. If they cannot put up then they should shut up, and simply get on with their work and make known what they do know for sure, and can prove for sure. Given the very nature and driving motivation of the scientific methodology its seems an odd inconsistency that their goal seems to be in letting the gas out of the balloon of inspiration awe and wonder. ‘You are nothing but a bunch of greedy selfish genes that control every thought, wish, desire, and motivation.’ Well, speak for yourself my old friend.
Moreover, I say this. If science can indeed generate these experiences and the overall effects which they have on people then… wow, mankind’s problems are over. And not only are mankind’s problems over but the kids will not have to work at life in order to learn and understand it. We can put all the kids under the helmet aged five and produce mature, well rounded human beings who are, on earth, as their root and spirit is in the ground of their being in the seed of creation. My god these people are stupid. Did somebody once say forgive them for they know not what they do, well, I dunno, but somebody should have wept for them. An interesting side question here, is that if this contraption works then why the hell have they not used it on themselves and grown up? Don’t answer that one, for it does not require answering.
So many people have asked me as to how I think these things work. I tell them outright that I do not know, and neither does anybody else. I have a few theories of my own relating to some of it, but that is all they are, theories, theories based upon experience and melded with nothing more than a little common sense. But even more important is my growing feeling, alas, that I do not really care any more. The fact is that they do work, and that is really all that matters. However, when I now look at the world, as it really is out there, I feel a little sick inside, and that sadness stifles the innate ‘magic’ which was in there as a kid and young man—salad days eh! Human misery and suffering, and inflicted by the species itself, takes ones interest and motivation away from the really juicy questions of life. It is a bit like love sickness I guess. It does not seem to matter any more. How can one sit contemplating for hours on end about esoteric questions, when the kids up the road are being abducted, tormented, raped, murdered, and all the rest of it. Enough is enough I guess, and one can only soak up so much nausea in a lifetime—and they say that they want to live for ever. One can only weep so many tears. Therefore esoteric questions are no longer of any great interest to me—well, in this lifetime at least.
A question which they all ask me without fail is as to what I think will happen to us when we leave this world. My answer is that I do not know and I do not care; my concern is, and always has been, for life on this earth, for we are here and on it now; and that is our immediate concern. However, for my part then everlasting oblivion with a bit of luck. For if one does not then at some point one is going to find oneself amongst human beings again—thanks, but no thanks. Everlasting oblivion would have no sting, and no tears. The implication within transcendence however, is reincarnation back into another extended reality in form at some point, for you cannot stay in a womb for ever—but I will take a rain check if there is any choice. And moreover, there would be no point in floating around in paradise for ever anyway, we have no freedom there, and we cannot even say ‘I love you’. So there is no point or function for our remaining in paradise. No, I love to walk among the trees, hills, valleys to witness the finished product of creation—essence is great, but form and essence together is even better. But first humanity has to grow up before we can really enjoy it. Anyway, wait and see for yourself, for we all go soon enough. There is no implication however, that one does automatically return to that ground of being at the end of a lifetime. Maybe yes, maybe no, for there could well be a scenario wherein the incarnate personality does continue in another level of reality for a while. I can only talk of what I personally experienced and learned at those levels.
Some have asked me about the ‘beings’ which I seemed to experience along that route of the minds vortex. What were they, was it real or symbolic, where were they if real? I did not learn anything about them at the time, and I have not done so since. I do not really care one way or the other. It is self-evident that they were not there in the vortex of my mind, and neither were they a symbolic emanation as was the child amid that music made of light. No, it was some form of empathic encounter not symbolic.
Everything which exists in extension meets up at the creative hub, like billions of pipes (vortices) going down into one tub; or like a pin cushion with billions of pins (vortices) sticking out of it. At that deep level of the vortex it seems that the insulation is less dense than higher up it. And thus empathic communications would be much like inductance from one wire into another. Those beings could have been anywhere in the universe or even in another dimension of reality. Were they real? What is real!? They were as real as I am. I do not know who or what they are or where, or how; and it is not my problem to worry about it. One world at a time is more than enough for my feeble mind to think about. It would be rather odd, and extremely sad, if this world was the highest manifestation of incarnate beings anywhere in creation. Then again, something has to come first eh! Perhaps we are cosmic trail blazers after all—but I do not think so, for it has all happened so quickly here on earth—as though it had been learned and practised many times before. I guess even the life force itself has to learn as it goes along. And are we not all a part of it writing the book into the cosmic sands of time and space?
What was the most moving part of all your own mystical and psychic experiences they ask? Truly would I never be able to forget one moment of that whole transcendent journey—and I know for I have tried to; but there is one thing I could never forget even if I managed to forget the rest. And what was it? What do you the reader think it was? Well, it was those words, that inner depth innate understanding…. “Something out there is in need.” How true eh? How true and how sad. And note by the way that it did not say something ‘down there’—but out there. Not stupid is it, whatever it is. It was like a cry for help, a cry for help from something way beyond that which I could ever grasp—and informing me, me, a mere nothing and nobody incarnate human form. Something out here is in need. Well, what do you make of it?
On returning to normal daily consciousness, and in my stupid ignorance, I assumed the message simply meant that my body was in need of the conscious bit—but no way, no way. A little learning is a wonderful thing, provided we realise it is but a little learning, and as the saying goes, there is more dear Horatio. No, that induced communication was far more profound, and meant far more than the mere re-connection of my consciousness with the outer world, far more. Indeed, just look around you at the bloody mess here.
We are a part of this creation and it cannot do it all itself you know; creation delegates to the parts. Creation delegates to all the parts within it, for that is what they are for—to work and function. One cannot issue forth freedom of choice and then damn well override it with another program. Hence we learn these things, see what it is like, and yet still have the freedom of choice to act upon it in our own way. Freedom is a frightening and problematic thought and reality, but we do have the power to make decisions and put them into affect. Ask the parents whose kids have been raped and murdered by cretins. My god, how do they continue to live through that, they must be strong, for I do not think I could. Thus it is then, that spiritual learning, growth, gradually becoming something a little more, is not all fun. It is not a cosmic joke. It is not a trial, it is the real thing. Those that have never hated the guts of life have never lived it and loved it. Those that have never wept have never laughed. Those that have never died have never lived. Those who have never been blind have never seen. Those who have never given have never received. And those who have never been in the dark have never been in the light. And they say this effect can be created by a helmet in a laboratory. My god, how stupid and idiotic can stupid and idiotic become.
Spirituality does not come in a pill or the flick of a switch—my god even life itself cannot do that, yet alone a bunch of crazy people in white suits with a pot on their head. Get real scientists, get real for god sake. So many people seem to be under the impression that to learn about life, or live it well, all one has to do is follow the lines of this or that book, or take a pill, or plug yourself into the national grid. Grow up lads, life is so complex, so painful, so slow a process, such a pain in the backside, such a joy, such a miracle, so mysterious, so unfathomable—good grief even chess is unfathomable and we created it. See if you can plug somebody into the national grid and produce a world class chess champion—or even one that can beat the machines which now play the damned game. ‘Tis ironic that after all these thousands of years of educating children that even now they do not know the best way of going about it (and neither do I by the way—but I do at least know that they have to be inspired, which then turns on the inner motivation and drive within them), and yet they have the gall to assume that they can induce incarnate spirituality at the throw of a switch. Oh my god look how clever I am, I can repeat life’s most profound and sacred experiences—come and put my helmet on and get wised up!!!
Perhaps it is the case that scientists and academics have not got any damned common sense; it makes one wonder to be sure. Perhaps spending too much time restricted to one field of experience and vocation undernourishes the rest of their soul. Life has a wide menu, so try lots of it. A little of lots is better than a lot regards to little. How many times, and how many hours have we all sat down in the evening worrying like hell about our kids. Knowing that they are going to learn this and that the hard way, in their ignorance of hindsight of experience? Can we do anything about it? Can we hell. We can talk until we are blue in the face, and to little or no avail. We know full well that despite all the talking, all the hoping, all the anguish, that the only way they are going to learn about life is by living it, and getting so much of it wrong. And ironically (or otherwise) getting it wrong is the only real and enduring way of learning it. Those who have never got anything wrong have never learned anything—by virtue of it. Getting things wrong is a divine wonder, and we learn. Not learning from them is utter stupidity and blindness. And each child is that important that it has to learn.
Irrespective of all the ludicrous religions that the world throws up, there are indeed quite of number of books and documents (ancient and modern) around which contain both interesting and good advice to people on living ones life. I guess, unfortunately, that one can only recognise such value from hindsight—when you do not need that particular advice. And then of course if one still does need it then one is not going to recognise it as good advice in the first place, for you cannot affirm to be true that which you have not yet learned to be true. Bit like shutting the stable door after the horse has gone. Quite funny really, but that is life; and that is how it goes. The thing about life, and all the true statements that can be said about it, is that in due course we all come to say (and see) the same things as being true. When young, life seems to be relative to the observer, but of course it is not. The only thing that is relative is our own individual degree of integration and learning along that road. If there were (or are) a finite number of the things to learn along the way, then when we had all learned all of them, we would then all know the selfsame things, and all affirm that fact. Reading mystical texts, for example, is, from hindsight, as simple as looking through a clean window. Likewise it is so easy to sort the genuine ones from the false gurus. Some have said to me… ‘Oh no, you cannot do this because it is all so relative.’ Rubbish, it is no such thing. Babies grow under bushes! Is that statement true or false? Is there anything clever or complicated in knowing if it is a true statement or not? Of course it is not, you do not even have to think about it and work it out. Reading ancient (or modern) mystics and their literature is no different. The only difference (please note) is that some of them were not mystics at all—and therein lies the rub—for those who do not know the difference as yet.
Moreover, some of the well known books on the phenomenon of mysticism have been written by folk who openly claimed that they had never had such experiential events personally, and some of which literature is extremely good. True, they talk and write in cold hard objective academic statements about the phenomenon as they see it, and which of course lacks all the passion, laughter and misery of the poor old mystics themselves. Still, there is a place for such literature, and such people have usually done their home-work admirably. One often wonders why they do it though, for they do not even know if it is true. Still, there you go; something is motivating them.
In the remaining chapters I will mention just a few of the topics that have interested me over the years regarding this subject matter. However, unlike the academics, I cannot leave my feelings and passion out of it and talk in cold objective terms. Life is all about living it and loving it, and hating it, and then learning more about it, and smiling and weeping and hoping, and striving; and all of which is encompassed in the passion of being. Without that passion we are already dead and almost non existent. Being a rank pragmatist from the start to the finish my view has always been that if we are forced to live life (we did not choose to be born—to the best of my knowledge and memory) then damn well live it, eat it, drink it, breath it. Life owes us answers. We have to grovel to nothing and nobody. One’s own dignity overrides all—or should do. What is a human being without respect for themselves and their own integrity? Nothing. So only then, when we have seen much of life, can we then not only say “I Know”, with full justification, but we are then in a position to Judge it. For it is I who is the judge of creation. And before I can do that then I must know it, the good, the bad and the downright ugly. How could an artist judge their own work dispassionately? Only others can do that, and the consensus view will be the adopted view. So what do you think of it all so far? Life that is, not this book! Most of the following was also written some years ago, and it covers at least some of my own pet hates and loves, and my own conceptual model of things; and obviously from hindsight of the things already mentioned thus far.
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